QUICK  ACTION 


Novels  by  Robert  W.  Chambers 


Quick  Action 
Blue- Bird  Weather 
Japonette 

The  Adventures  of  a 

Modest  Man 
The  Danger  Mark 
Special  Messenger 
The  Firing  Line 
The  Younger  Set 
The  Fighting  Chance 
Some  Ladies  in  Haste 
The    Tree  of  Heaven 
The    Tracer    of    Lost 

Persons 
A    Young    Man   in    a 

Hurry 
Lorraine 

Maids  of  Paradise 
Ashes  of  Empire 
The  Red  Republic 
Outsiders 


The  Business  of  Life 
The  Gay  Rebellion 
The  Streets  of  Ascalon 
The  Common  Law 
Ailsa  Paige 
The  Green  Mouse 
lole 

The  Reckoning 
The  Maid-at  Arms 
Cardigan 

The  Haunts  of  Men 
The  Mystery  of  Choice 
The  Cambric  Mask 
The  Maker  of  Moons 
The  King  in  Yellow 
In  Search  of  the  Un 
known 

The  Conspirators 
A    King    and    a    Few 

Dukes 
In  the  Quarter 


140 


r' 


"  'Are  you  preaching?'  asked  Athalie,  raising  her  eyes 
from  the  Green  God."  fpa^e  2S2] 


QUICK  ACTION 


By 
ROBERT  W.  CHAMBERS 


ILLUSTRATED    BY 

EDMUND    FREDERICK 


D.    APPLETON     AND     COMPANY 
NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON  :  MCMXIV 


COPYRIGHT,  1914,  BY 

ROBERT  W.  CHAMBERS 


Copyright,  1913,  by  Harper's  Bazar,  Inc. 
Copyright,  1914,  by  The  Star  Co. 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


2227S19 


TO 
PENELOPE   SEARS 

DEBUTANTE 


To  rhyme  your  name 
With  something  lovely,  fresh  and  young, 

And  sing  the  same 
In  measures  heretofore  unsung, 
Is  far  beyond  me,  I'm  afraid; 
I'll  not  attempt  it,  dearest  maid. 

No,  not  in  verse, 
Synthetic,  stately,  classic,  chaste, 

Shall   I  rehearse — 
Although  in  perfectly  good  taste — 
A   catalogue  of  every  grace 
That  you  inherit  from  your  race. 

Gracious  and  kind, 
The  gods  your  beauty  gave  to  you, 

And  with  a  mind 

These  same  kind  gods  endowed  you,  too; 
That  charming  union  is,  I  fear, 
Somewhat  uncommon  on  this  sphere. 

I  have  no  doubt 
That  scores  of  poets  chant  your  fame; 

No  doubt,  about 

A  million  suitors  press  their  claim; 
And   fashion,   elegance   and  wit 
Are  at  your  feet  inclined  to  sit. 


Penelope, 
The  fire-light  flickers  to  and  fro: 

In  you  I  see 

The  winsome  child  I  used  to  know — 
My  little  Maiden  of  Romance 
Still  whirling  in  your  Shadow  Dance. 

Though    woman-grown, 
To  my  unreconciled  surprise 

I  gladly  own 

The  same  light  lies  within  your  eyes — 
The  same  sweet  candour  which  beguiled 
Your  rhymster  when  you  were  a  child. 

And  so  I  come, 
With  limping  verse  to  you  again, 

Amid  the  hum 

Of  that  young  world  wherein  you  reign — 
Only  a   moment   to   appear 
And  say:   "Your  rhymster  loves  you,  dear." 

R.  W.  C. 


PREFACE 

Always  animated  by  a  desire  to  contribute  in  a 
small  way  toward  scientific  investigation,  the 
author  offers  this  humble  volume  to  a  more  seri 
ous  audience  than  he  has  so  far  ventured  to  ad 
dress. 

For  all  those  who  have  outgrown  the  superficial 
amusement  of  mere  fiction  this  volume,  replete 
with  purpose,  is  written  in  hopes  that  it  may 
stimulate  students  to  original  research  in  certain 
obscure  realms  of  science,  the  borderlands  of 
which,  hitherto,  have  been  scarcely  crossed. 

There  is  perhaps  no  division  of  science  as  im 
portant,  none  so  little  understood,  as  the  science 
of  Crystal  Gazing. 

A  vast  field  of  individual  research  opens  before 
the  earnest,  patient,  and  sober  minded  investigator 
who  shall  study  the  subject  and  discover  those 
occult  laws  which  govern  the  intimate  relations 
between  crystals,  playing  cards,  cigarettes,  soiled 
pink  wrappers,  and  the  Police. 


Amor  nihil  est  celerius! 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING 
PAGE 


'  Are  you  preaching  ? '  asked  Athalie,  raising  her 
eyes  from  the  green  god  ".     .     Frontispiece 

"They  inspected  each  other,  apparently  bereft 

of  the  power  of  speech" 31 

"The  magnificent  realism  of  it  fascinated  the 

LadyAlene" 84 

"I  am  in  possession  of  the  dog  and  you  merely 

claim  possession '" 157 


QUICK  ACTION 


THERE  was  a  new  crescent  moon  in  the  west 
which,  with  the  star  above  it,  made  an 
agreeable  oriental  combination. 
In  the  haze  over  bay  and  river  enough  rose  and 
purple  remained  to  veil  the  awakening  glitter  of 
the  monstrous  city  sprawling  supine  between  river, 
sound,  and  sea.     And  its  incessant  monotone  pul 
sated,    groaning,    dying,    ceaseless,    interminable 
in  the  light-shot  depths  of  its  darkening  streets. 
The  sky-drawing-room  windows  of  the  Countess 
Athalie  were  all  wide  open,  but  the  only  light  in 

1 


Quick   Action 


the  room  came  from  a  crystal  sphere  poised  on 
a  tripod.  It  had  the  quality  and  lustre  of  moon 
light,  and  we  had  never  been  able  to  find  out  its 
source,  for  no  electric  wires  were  visible,  and  one 
could  move  the  tripod  about  the  room. 

The  crystal  sphere  itself  appeared  to  be  lumi 
nous,  yet  it  remained  perfectly  transparent,  what 
ever  the  source  of  its  silvery  phosphorescence. 

At  any  rate,  it  was  the  only  light  in  the  room 
except  the  dulled  glimmer  of  our  cigarettes,  and 
its  mild,  mysterious  light  enabled  us  to  see  one 
another  as  through  a  glass  darkly. 

There  were  a  number  of  men  there  that  even 
ing.  I  don't  remember,  now,  who  they  all  were. 
Some  had  dined  early ;  others,  during  the  evening, 
strolled  away  into  the  city  to  dine  somewhere  or 
other,  drifting  back  afterward  for  coffee  and 
sweetmeats  and  cigarettes  in  the  sky-drawing- 
room  of  the  Countess  Athalie. 

As  usual  the  girl  was  curled  up  by  the  open 
window  among  her  silken  cushions,  one  smooth 
little  gem-laden  hand  playing  with  the  green  jade 
god,  her  still  dark  eyes,  which  slanted  a  little, 
fixed  dreamily  upon  infinite  distance — or  so  it  al 
ways  seemed  to  us. 

Through  the  rusty  and  corrugated  arabesques 
of  the  iron  balcony  she  could  see,  if  she  chose, 

2 


Quick   Action 


the  yellow  flare  where  Sixth  Avenue  crossed  the 
shabby  street  to  the  eastward.  Beyond  that, 
and  parallel,  a  brighter  glow  marked  Broadway. 
Further  east  street  lamps  stretched  away  into 
converging  perspective,  which  vanished  to  a  point 
in  the  faint  nebular  radiance  above  the  East 
River. 

All  this  the  Countess  Athalie  could  see  if  she 
chose.  Perhaps  she  did  see  it.  We  never  seemed 
to  know  just  what  she  was  looking  at  even  when 
she  turned  her  dark  eyes  on  us  or  on  her  crystal 
sphere  cradled  upon  its  slender  tripod. 

But  the  sphere  seemed  to  understand,  for  some 
times,  under  her  still  gaze,  it  clouded  magnificently 
like  a  black  opal — another  thing  we  never  under 
stood,  and  therefore  made  light  of. 

"They  have  placed  policemen  before  several 
houses  on  this  street,"  remarked  the  Countess 
Athalie. 

Stafford,  tall  and  slim  in  his  evening  dress,  re 
lieved  her  of  her  coffee  cup. 

"Has  anybody  bothered  you?"  he  asked. 

"Not  yet." 

Young  Duane  picked  up  a  pack  of  cards  at  his 
elbow  and  shuffled  them,  languidly. 

"Where  is  the  Ace  of  Diamonds,  Athalie?"  he 
asked. 


Quick   Action 


"Any  card  you  try  to  draw  will  be  the  Ace  of 
Diamonds,"  replied  the  girl  indifferently. 

"Can't  I  escape  drawing  it?" 

"No." 

We  all  turned  and  looked  at  Duane.  He  quick 
ly  spread  the  pack,  fan-shaped,  backs  up.  After 
a  moment's  choosing  he  drew  a  card,  looked  at  it, 
held  it  up  for  us  to  see.  It  was  the  Ace  of 
Diamonds. 

"Would  you  mind  trying  that  again,  Athalie?" 
I  asked.  And  Duane  replaced  the  card  and  shuf 
fled  the  pack. 

"But  it's  gone,  now,"  said  the  girl. 

"I  replaced  it  in  the  pack,"  explained  Duane. 

"No,  you  gave  it  to  me,"  she  said. 

We  all  smiled.  Duane  searched  through  the 
pack  in  his  hands,  once,  twice ;  then  he  laughed. 
The  girl  held  up  one  empty  hand.  Then,  somehow 
or  other,  there  was  the  Ace  of  Diamonds  between 
her  delicate  little  thumb  and  forefinger. 

She  held  it  a  moment  or  two  for  our  inspection ; 
then,  curving  her  wrist,  sent  it  scaling  out  into 
the  darkness.  It  soared  away  above  the  street, 
tipped  up,  and  describing  an  aerial  ellipse,  re 
turned  straight  to  the  balcony  where  she  caught 
it  in  her  fingers. 

Twice  she  did  this;  but  the  third  time,  high  in 
4 


Quick    Action 


the    air,    the    card    burst    into    violet    flame    and 
vanished. 

"That,"  remarked  Stafford,  "is  one  thing  which 
I  wish  to  learn  how  to  do." 

"Two  hundred  dollars,"  said  the  Countess 
Athalie,  " — in  two  lessons ;  also,  your  word  of 
honour." 

"Monday,"  nodded  Stafford,  taking  out  a  note 
book  and  making  a  memorandum,  " — at  five  in 
the  afternoon." 

"Monday  and  Wednesday  at  five,"  said  the  girl, 
lighting  a  cigarette  and  gazing  dreamily  at 
nothing. 

From  somewhere  in  the  room  came  a  voice. 

"Did  they  ever  catch  that  crook,  Athalie?" 

"Which?" 

"The  Fifty-ninth  Street  safe-blower?" 

"Yes." 

"Did  you  find  him?" 

She  nodded. 

"How?     In  your  crystal?"  I  asked. 

"Yes,  he  was  there." 

"It's  odd,"  mused  Duane,  "that  you  can  never 
do  anything  of  advantage  to  yourself  by  gazing 
into  your  crystal." 

"It's  the  invariable  limit  to  clairvoyance,"  she 
remarked. 

5 


Quick    Action 


"A  sort  of  penalty  for  being  super-gifted," 
added  Stafford. 

"Perhaps.  .  .  .     We  can't  help  ourselves." 

"It's  too  bad,"  I  volunteered. 

"Oh,  I  don't  care,"  she  said,  with  a  slight  shrug 
of  her  pretty  shoulders. 

"Come,"  said  somebody,  teasingly,  "wouldn't 
you  like  to  know  how  soon  you  are  going  to  fall 
in  love,  and  with  whom?" 

She  laughed,  dropped  her  cigarette  into  a  silver 
bowl,  stretched  her  arms  above  her  head,  straight 
ened  her  slender  figure,  turned  her  head  and  looked 
at  us. 

"No,"  she  said,  "I  do  not  wish  to  know.  Light 
is  swift;  Thought  is  swifter;  but  Love  is  the 
swiftest  thing  in  Life,  and  if  it  is  now  travelling 
toward  me,  it  will  strike  me  soon  enough  to  suit 
me." 

Stafford  leaned  forward  and  arranged  the  cush 
ions  for  her ;  she  sank  back  among  them,  her  dark 
eyes  still  on  us. 

"Hours  are  slow,"  she  said;  "years  are  slower, 
but  the  slowest  thing  in  Life  is  Love.  If  it  is  now 
travelling  toward  me,  it  will  reach  me  soon  enough 
to  suit  me." 

"I,"  said  Duane,  "prefer  quick  action,  O 
Athalie,  the  Beautiful!" 

6 


Quick   Action 


"Athalie,  lovely  and  incomparable,"  said  Staf 
ford,  "I,  also,  prefer  quick  action." 

"Play  Scheherazade  for  us,  Athalie,"  I  said, 
"else  we  slay  you  with  our  compliments." 

A  voice  or  two  from  distant  corners  repeated 
the  menace.  A  match  flared  and  a  fresh  cigar 
ette  glowed  faintly. 

Somebody  brought  the  tripod  with  its  crystal 
sphere  and  set  it  down  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 
Its  mild  rays  fell  on  the  marble  basin  of  the  tiny 
fountain, — Duane's  offering.  The  goldfish  which 
I  had  given  her  were  floating  there  fast  asleep. 

When  we  had  placed  sweetmeats  and  cigar 
ettes  convenient  for  her,  we  all,  in  turn,  with 
circumstance  and  ceremony,  bent  over  her  left 
hand  where  it  rested  listlessly  among  the  cush 
ions,  saluting  the  emerald  on  her  third  finger  with 
our  lips. 

Then  the  dim  circle  closed  around  her,  nearer. 

"Of  all  the  visions  which  have  passed  before 
your  eyes  within  the  depths  of  that  crystal 
globe,"  said  Duane,  " — of  all  the  histories  of  men 
and  women  which,  unsuspected  by  them,  you  have 
witnessed,  seated  here  in  this  silent,  silk-hung 
place,  we  desire  to  hear  only  those  in  which  Fate 
has  been  swiftest,  Opportunity  a  loosened  ar 
row,  Destiny  a  flash  of  lightning." 

7 


Quick   Action 


"But  the  victims  of  quick  action  must  be  name 
less,  except  as  I  choose  to  mask  them,"  she  said, 
looking  dreamily  into  her  crystal. 

After  a  moment's  silence  Duane  said  in  a  low 
voice : 

"Does  anybody  notice  the  odour  of  orange 
blossoms?" 

We  all  noticed  the  fragrance. 

"I  seem  to  catch  a  whiff  of  the  sea,  also,"  ven 
tured  Stafford.  "Am  I  right?" 

"Yes,"  she  nodded,  "you  will  notice  the  odour 
of  the  semi-tropics,  even  if  you  miss  the  point  of 
everything  I  tell  you." 

"In  other  words,"  said  I,  "we  are  but  a  ma 
terial  bunch,  Athalie,  and  may  be  addressed  and 
amused  only  through  our  physical  senses.  Very 
well:  transpose  from  the  spiritual  for  us  if  you 
please  a  little  story  of  quick  action  which  has 
happened  here  in  the  crystal  under  your  match 
less  eyes!" 


II 


WITH     her    silver     tongs    she    selected    a 
sweetmeat.      When    it    had    melted    in 
her  sweeter  mouth,  she  lighted  a  cigar 
ette,    saluted   us   with   a   gay   little    gesture    and 
smilingly  began: 

"Don't  ask  me  how  I  know  what  these  people 
said ;  that  is  my  concern,  not  yours.  Don't  ask 
me  how  I  know  what  unspoken  thoughts  animated 
these  people ;  that  is  my  affair.  Nor  how  I  seem 
to  be  perfectly  acquainted  with  their  past  his 
tories  ;  for  that  is  part  of  my  profession." 

"And  still  the  wonder  grew,"  commented  the 
novelist  tritely,  "that  one  small  head  could 
carry  all  she  knew!" 

"Why,"  asked  Stafford,  "do  you  refuse  to 
reveal  your  secret?  Do  you  no  longer  trust  us, 
Athalie?" 

9 


Quick   Action 


She  answered:  "Comment  pretendons-nous  qu- 
'un  autre  garde  notre  secret,  si  nous  n'avons  pas 
pu  le  garder  nous-meme?" 

Nobody  replied. 

"Now,"  she  said,  laughingly,  "I  will  tell  you 
all  that  I  know  about  the  Orange  Puppy." 


Plans  for  her  first  debut  began  before  her  birth. 
When  it  became  reasonably  certain  that  she  was 
destined  to  decorate  the  earth,  she  was  entered 
on  the  waiting  lists  of  two  schools — The  Dingle- 
nook  School  for  Boys,  and  The  Idlebrook  Insti 
tute  for  Young  Ladies — her  parents  taking  no 
chances,  but  playing  both  ends  coming  and  going. 

When  ultimately  she  made  her  first  earthly  ap 
pearance,  and  it  was  apparent  that  she  was  des 
tined  to  embellish  the  planet  in  the  guise  of  a 
girl,  the  process  of  grooming  her  for  her  second 
debut,  some  eighteen  years  in  the  future,  began. 
She  lived  in  sanitary  and  sterilized  seclusion,  eat 
ing  by  the  ounce,  sleeping  through  accurately 
measured  minutes,  every  atom  of  her  anatomy 
inspected  daily,  every  pore  of  her  skin  explored, 
every  garment  she  wore  weighed,  every  respira 
tion,  pulse  beat,  and  fluctuation  of  bodily  tem 
perature  carefully  noted  and  discussed. 

10 


Quick   Action 


When  she  appeared  her  hair  was  black.  After 
she  shed  this,  it  came  in  red;  when  she  was  eight 
her  hair  was  coppery,  lashes  black,  eyes  blue,  and 
her  skin  snow  and  wild-strawberry  tints  in  agree 
ably  delicate  nuances.  Several  millions  were  set 
aside  to  grow  up  with  her  and  for  her.  Also, 
the  list  of  foreign  and  aristocratic  babyhood  was 
scanned  and  several  dozen  possibilities  checked 
off — the  list  running  from  the  progeny  of  down- 
and-out  monarchs  with  a  sporting  chance  for  a 
crown,  to  the  more  solid  infant  aristocracy  of 
Britain. 

At  the  age  of  nine,  the  only  symptom  of  intel 
lect  that  had  yet  appeared  in  her  was  a  superbly 
developed  temper.  That  year  she  eluded  a  gov 
erness  and  two  trained  nurses  in  the  park,  and 
was  discovered  playing  with  some  unsterilized  chil 
dren  near  the  duck-pond,  both  hands  full  of  slime 
and  pollywogs. 

It  was  the  only  crack  in  the  routine  through 
which  she  ever  crawled.  Lessons  daily  in  riding, 
driving,  dancing,  fencing,  gymnastics,  squash, 
tennis,  skating,  plugged  every  avenue  of  escape 
between  morning  school  and  evening  sleep,  after 
a  mental  bath  in  sterilized  literature.  Once,  out 
of  the  window  she  saw  a  fire.  This  event,  with 
several  runaways  on  the  bridle-path,  included  the 
11 


Quick   Action 


sensations  of  her  life  up  to  her  release  from  special 
instructors,  and  her  entry  into  Idlebrook  Insti 
tute. 

Here  she  did  all  she  could  to  misbehave  in  a 
blind  and  instinctive  fashion,  but  opportunities 
were  pitiably  few;  and  by  the  time  she  had  grad 
uated,  honest  deviltry  seemed  to  have  been 
starved  out  of  her;  and  a  half  year's  finishing 
abroad  apparently  eliminated  it,  leaving  only  a 
half-confused  desire  to  be  let  alone.  But  solitude 
was  the  luxury  always  denied  her. 

Unlike  the  usual  debutante,  who  is  a  social 
veteran  two  years  before  her  presentation,  and 
who  at  eighteen  lacks  no  experience  except  intel 
lectual,  Miss  Cassillis  had  become  neither  a  judge 
of  champagne  nor  an  expert  in  the  various  caba 
ret  steps  popular  at  country  houses  and  the  more 
exclusive  dives. 

"Mother,"  she  said  calmly,  on  her  eighteenth 
birthday,  "do  you  know  that  I  am  known  among 
my  associates  as  a  dead  one?"  At  which  that  fat 
and  hard-eyed  matron  laughed,  surveying  her 
symmetrical  daughter  with  grim  content. 

"Let  me  tell  you  something,"  she  said.  "Amer 
ica,  socially,  is  only  one  vast  cabaret,  mostly  con 
sisting  of  performers.  The  spectators  are  few. 
You're  one.  Conditions  are  reversed  across  the 
12 


Quick   Action 


water;  the  audience  is  in  the  majority.   .   .  .    How 
do  you  like  young  Willowmere?" 

The  girl  replied  that  she  liked  Lord  Willow- 
mere.  She  might  have  added  that  she  was  pre 
pared  to  like  anything  in  trousers  that  would 
give  her  a  few  hours  off. 

"Do  you  think,"  said  her  mother,  "you  can 
be  trusted  to  play  in  the  social  cabaret  all  next 
winter,  and  then  marry  Willowmere?" 

Said  Cecil:  "I  am  perfectly  ready  to  marry 
anybody  before  luncheon,  if  you  will  let  me." 

"I  do  not  wish  you  to  feel  that  way." 

"Mother,  I  do!  All  I  want  is  to  be  let  alone 
long  enough  to  learn  something  for  myself." 

"What  do  you  not  know?  What  have  you  not 
learned?  What  accomplishment  do  you  lack, 
little  daughter?  What  is  it  you  wish?" 

The  girl  glanced  out  of  the  window.  A  young 
and  extremely  well-built  man  went  striding  down 
the  avenue  about  his  business.  He  looked  a  little 
like  a  man  she  had  seen  playing  ball  on  the  Har 
vard  team  a  year  ago.  She  sighed  unconsciously. 

"I've  learned  about  everything  there  is  to 
learn,  I  suppose.  .  .  .  Except — where  do  men 
go  when  they  walk  so  busily  about  their  busi 
ness?" 

"Down  town,"  said  her  mother,  laughing. 
13 


Quick   Action 


"What  do  they  do  there?" 

"A  million  things  concerning  millions." 

"But  I  don't  see  how  there's  anything  left  for 
them  to  do  after  their  education  is  completed. 
What  is  there  left  for  me  to  do,  except  to  marry 
and  have  a  few  children?" 

"What  do  you  want  to  do?" 

"Nothing.  .  .  .  I'd  like  to  have  something  to 
do  which  would  make  me  look  busy  and  make  me 
walk  rather  fast — like  that  young  man  who  was 
hurrying  down  town  all  by  himself.  Then  I'd  like 
to  be  let  alone  while  I'm  busy  with  my  own 
affairs." 

"When  you  marry  Willowmere  you'll  be  busy 
enough."  She  might  have  added:  "And  lonely 
enough." 

"I'll  be  occupied  in  telling  others  how  to  busy 
themselves  with  my  affairs.  But  there  won't  be 
anything  for  me  to  do,  will  there?" 

"Yes,  dear  child;  it  will  be  one  steady  fight  to 
better  a  good  position.  It  will  afford  you  con 
stant  exercise." 

The  tall  young  girl  bit  her  lip  and  shook  her 
pretty  head  in  silence.  She  felt  instinctively  that 
she  knew  how  to  do  that.  But  that  was  not  the 
exercise  she  wanted.  She  looked  out  into  the 
February  sunshine  and  saw  the  blue  shadows  on 


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the  snow  and  the  sidewalks  dark  and  wet,  and  the 
little  gutter  arabs  throwing  snow-balls,  and  a 
yellow  pup  barking  blissfully.  And,  apropos  of 
nothing  at  all,  she  suddenly  remembered  how  she 
had  run  away  when  she  was  nine ;  and  a  rush  of 
blind  desire  surged  within  her.  What  it  meant 
she  did  not  know,  did  not  trouble  to  consider,  but 
it  stirred  her  until  the  soft  fire  burned  in  her 
cheeks,  and  left  her  twisting  her  white  fingers, 
lips  parted,  staring  across  the  wintry  park  into 
the  blue  tracery  of  trees.  To  Miss  Cassillis 
adolescence  came  late. 

They  sang  Le  Donne  Curiose  at  the  opera  that 
evening;  she  sat  in  her  father's  box;  numbers  of 
youthful,  sleek-headed,  white-shirted  young  men 
came  between  the  acts.  She  talked  to  all  with 
the  ardor  of  the  young  and  unsatisfied ;  and,  men 
tally  and  spiritually  still  unsatisfied,  buried  in 
fur,  she  was  whirled  back  through  snowy  streets 
to  the  great  grey  mansion  of  her  nativity,  and 
the  silence  of  her  white-hung  chamber. 

All  through  February  the  preparatory  regime 
continued,  with  preliminary  canters  at  theatre 
and  opera,  informal  party  practice,  and  trial 
dinners.  Always  she  gave  herself  completely  to 
every  moment  with  a  wistful  and  unquenched 
faith,  eager  novice  in  her  quest  of  what  was  lack- 
15 


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ing  in  her  life;  ardent  enthusiast  in  her  restless 
searching  for  the  remedy.  And,  unsatisfied,  lin 
gering  mentally  by  the  door  of  Chance,  lest  she 
miss  somewhere  the  magic  that  satisfies  and  quiets 
— lest  the  gates  of  Opportunity  swing  open  after 
she  had  turned  away — reluctantly  she  returned 
to  the  companionship  of  her  own  solitary  mind 
and  undeveloped  soul,  and  sat  down  to  starve 
with  them  in  spirit,  wondering  wherein  might  lie 
the  reason  for  this  new  hunger  that  assailed  her, 
mind  and  body. 

She  ran  up  her  private  flag  the  next  winter, 
amid  a  thousand  other  gay  and  flaunting  colours 
breaking  out  all  over  town.  The  newspapers 
roared  a  salute  to  the  wealthiest  debutante;  and 
an  enthusiastic  press,  not  yet  housebroken  but 
agile  with  much  exercise  in  leaping  and  fawning, 
leaped  now  about  the  debutante's  slippers,  grin 
ning,  slavering  and  panting.  Later,  led  by  in 
stinct  and  its  Celebrated  Nose,  it  bounded  toward 
young  Lord  Willowmere,  jumped  and  fawned 
about  him,  slightly  soiling  him,  until  in  midwinter 
the  engagement  it  had  announced  was  corrobor 
ated,  and  a  million  shop-girls  and  old  women  were 
in  a  furor. 

He  was  a  ruddy-faced  young  man  who  wore  his 
bowler  hat  toward  the  back  of  his  head,  a  small, 
16 


Quick   Action 


pointed  moustache,  and  who  walked  always  as 
though  he  were  shod  in  riding  boots. 

He  would  have  made  a  healthy  studgroom  for 
any  gentleman's  stable.  Person  and  intellect 
were  always  thoroughly  scrubbed  as  with  saddle- 
soap.  Had  he  been  able  to  afford  it,  his  stables 
would  have  been  second  to  none  in  England. 

Soon  he  would  be  able  to  afford  it. 

To  his  intimates,  including  his  fiancee,  he  was 
known  as  "Stirrups."  All  day  long  he  was  in  the 
saddle  or  on  the  box,  every  evening  at  the  Cata 
ract  Club  or  at  a  cabaret.  Between  times  he 
called  upon  Miss  Cassillis — usually  finding  her 
out.  When  he  found  her  not  at  home,  he  called 
elsewhere,  very  casually. 

Two  continents  were  deeply  stirred  over  the 
impending  alliance. 


Ill 


YOUNG  Jones,  in  wildest  Florida,  had  never 
heard  of  it  or  of  her,  or  of  her  income. 
His  own  fortune  amounted  to  six  hun 
dred  dollars,  and  he  had  been  born  in  Brooklyn, 
and  what  his   salary  might  be  only  he   and  the 
Smithsonian  Institution  knew. 

He  was  an  industrious  young  man,  no  better 
than  you  or  I,  accepting  thankfully  every  oppor 
tunity  for  mischief  which  the  Dead  Lake  region 
afforded.  No  opportunities  of  that  kind  ever 
presenting  themselves  in  that  region,  he  went  once 
a  month  to  Miami  in  the  Orange  Puppy,  and 
drank  too  many  swizzles  and  so  forth,  et  cetera. 

18 


Quick   Action 


Having  accomplished  this,  he  returned  to  the 
wharf,  put  the  Orange  Puppy  into  commission, 
hoisted  sail,  and  squared  away  for  Matanzas  In 
let,  finding  himself  too  weak-minded  to  go  home 
by  a  more  direct  route. 

He  had  been  on  his  monthly  pilgrimage  to  Mi 
ami,  and  was  homeward  bound  noisily,  using  his 
auxiliary  power,  so  that  silence  should  not  descend 
upon  him  too  abruptly.  He  had  been,  for  half 
an  hour  now,  immersed  in  a  species  of  solitaire 
known  as  The  Idiot's  Delight,  when  he  caught 
himself  cheating  himself,  and  indignantly  scat 
tered  the  pack  to  the  four  winds — three  of  which, 
however,  were  not  blowing.  One  card,  the  deuce 
of  hearts,  fluttered  seaward  like  a  white  butter 
fly.  Beyond  it  he  caught  sight  of  another  white 
speck,  shining  like  a  gull's  breast. 

It  was  a  big  yacht  steaming  in  from  the  open 
sea ;  and  her  bill  of  lading  included  Miss  Cassillis 
and  Willowmere.  But  Jones  could  not  know  that. 
So  he  merely  blinked  at  the  distant  Chihuahua, 
yawned,  flipped  the  last  card  overboard,  and 
swung  the  Orange  Puppy  into  the  inlet,  which 
brimmed  rather  peacefully,  the  tide  being  nearly 
at  flood. 

Far  away  on  the  deck  of  the  Chihuahua  the 
quick-fire  racket  of  Jones's  auxiliary  was  amaz- 
19 


Quick    Action 


ingly  audible.  Miss  Cassillis,  from  her  deck-chair, 
could  see  the  Orange  Puppy,  a  fleck  of  glimmer 
ing  white  across  a  sapphire  sea.  How  was  she 
to  divine  that  one  Delancy  Jones  was  aboard  of 
her?  All  she  saw  when  the  two  boats  came  near 
each  other  was  a  noisy  little  craft  progressing 
toward  the  lagoon,  emitting  an  earsplitting 
racket;  and  a  tall,  lank  young  man  clad  in  flan 
nels  lounging  at  the  tiller  and  smoking  a  cig 
arette. 

Around  her  on  the  snowy  deck  were  disposed 
the  guests  of  her  parents,  mostly  corpulent,  swiz 
zles  at  every  elbow,  gracefully  relaxing  after  a 
morning  devoted  to  arduous  idleness.  The  Vic 
tor  on  deck,  which  had  furnished  the  incentive  to 
her  turkey-trotting  with  Lord  Willowmere,  was 
still  exuding  a  syncopated  melody.  Across  the 
water,  Jones  heard  it  and  stood  looking  at  the 
great  yacht  as  the  Orange  Puppy  kicked  her  way 
through  the  intensely  blue  water  under  an  azure 
sky. 

Willowmere  lounged  over  to  the  rail  and  gazed 
wearily  at  the  sand  dunes  and  palmettos.  Pres 
ently  Miss  Cassillis  slipped  from  her  deck-chair 
to  her  white-shod  feet,  and  walked  over  to  where 
he  stood.  He  said  something  about  the  possi 
bilities  of  "havin'  a  bit  of  shootin',"  with  a  vague 
20 


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wave  of  his  highly-coloured  hand  toward  the  pal 
metto  forests  beyond  the  lagoon. 

If  the  girl  heard  him  she  made  no  comment. 
After  a  while,  as  the  distance  between  the  Chihua 
hua  and  the  Orange  Puppy  lengthened,  she  lev 
elled  her  sea  glasses  at  the  latter  craft,  and  found 
that  the  young  man  at  the  helm  was  also  ex 
amining  her  through  his  binoculars. 

While  she  inspected  him,  several  unrelated  ideas 
passed  through  her  head ;  she  thought  he  was 
very  much  sunburned  and  that  his  hatless  head 
was  attractive,  with  its  short  yellow  hair  crisped 
by  the  sun.  Without  any  particular  reason,  ap 
parently,  she  recollected  a  young  man  she  had 
seen  the  winter  before,  striding  down  the  wintry 
avenue  about  his  business.  He  might  have  been 
this  young  man  for  all  she  knew.  Like  the  other, 
this  one  wore  yellow  hair.  Then,  with  no  logic  in 
the  sequence  of  her  thoughts,  suddenly  the  mem 
ory  of  how  she  had  run  away  when  she  was  nine 
years  old  set  her  pulses  beating,  filling  her  heart 
with  the  strange,  wistful,  thrilling,  overwhelming 
longing  which  she  had  supposed  would  never  again 
assail  her,  now  that  she  was  engaged  to  be  mar 
ried.  And  once  more  the  soft  fire  burned  in  her 
cheeks. 

"Stirrups,"  she  said,  scarcely  knowing  what  she 


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was  saying,  "I  don't  think  I'll  marry  you  after 
all.  It's  just  occurred  to  me." 

"Oh,  I  say!"  protested  Willowmere  languidly? 
never  for  a  moment  mistrusting  that  the  point 
of  her  remark  was  buried  in  some  species  of 
American  humour.  He  always  submitted  to 
American  humour.  There  was  nothing  else  to  do, 
except  to  understand  it. 

"Stirrups,  dear?" 

"What?" 

"You're  very  pink  and  healthy,  aren't  you?" 

He  shrugged  his  accustomed  shrug  of  resigna 
tion. 

"Oh,  I  say — come,  now —  '  he  murmured, 
lighting  a  cigarette. 

"What  a  horrid  smash  there  would  be  if  I 
didn't  make  good,  wouldn't  there,  Stirrups?" 
She  mused,  her  blue  eyes  resting  on  him,  too 
coldly. 

"Rather,"  he  replied,  comfortably  settling  his 
arms  on  the  rail. 

"It  might  happen,  you  know.  Suppose  I  fell 
overboard?" 

"Fish  you  out,  ducky." 

"Suppose  I — ran  away?" 

"Ow." 

"What  would  you  do,  Stirrups?  Why,  you'd 
22 


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go  back  to  town  and  try  to  pick  another  winner. 
Wouldn't  you?" 

He  laughed. 

"Naturally  that  is  what  you  would  do,  isn't 
it?"  She  considered  him  curiously  for  a  moment, 
then  smiled.  "How  funny!"  she  said,  almost 
breathlessly. 

"Rather,"  he  murmured,  and  flicked  his  ciga 
rette  overboard. 

The  Orange  Puppy  had  disappeared  beyond  the 
thicket  of  palmettos  across  the  point.  The  air 
was  very  warm  and  still. 

Her  father  waddled  forward  presently,  wearing 
the  impressive  summer  regalia  of  a  commodore  in 
the  Siwanois  Yacht  Club.  His  daughter's  blue 
eyes  rested  on  the  portly  waistline  of  her  parent 
— then  on  his  fluffy  chop-whiskers.  A  vacant, 
hunted  look  came  into  her  eyes. 

"Father,"  she  said  almost  listlessly,  "I'm  going 
to  run  away  again." 

"When  do  you  start?"  inquired  that  facetious 
man. 

"Now,  I  think.  What  is  there  over  there?" — 
turning  her  face  again  toward  the  distant  lagoon, 
with  its  endless  forests  of  water-oak,  cedar,  and 
palmetto. 

"Over  there,"  said  her  father,  "reside  several 
23 


Quick    Action 


species  of  snakes  and  alligators.  Also  other  rep 
tiles,  a  number  of  birds,  and  animals,  and  much 
microbic  mud." 

She  bit  her  lip.     "I  see,"  she  said,  nodding. 

Willowmere  said :  "We  should  find  some  shootin' 
along  the  lagoon.  Look  at  the  ducks." 

Mr.  Cassillis  yawned;  he  had  eaten  too  heav 
ily  of  duck  to  be  interested.  Very  thoughtfully 
he  presented  himself  with  a  cigar,  turned  it  over 
and  over  between  his  soft  fingers,  and  yawned 
again.  Then,  nodding  solemnly  as  though  in  em 
phasis  of  a  profound  idea  of  which  he  had  just 
been  happily  delivered,  he  waddled  slowly  back 
along  the  deck. 

His  daughter  looked  after  him  until  he  disap 
peared  ;  gazed  around  her  at  the  dawdling  assort 
ment  of  guests  aboard,  then  lifted  her  quiet  eyes 
to  Willowmere. 

"Ducky,"  she  said,  "I  can't  stand  it.  I'm  going 
to  run  away." 

"Come  on,  then,"  he  said,  linking  his  arm  in 
hers. 

The  Victor  still  exuded  the  Tango. 

She  hesitated.     Then  freeing  herself: 

"Oh,  not  with  you,  Stirrups !  I  wish  to  go 
away  somewhere  entirely  alone.  Could  you  un 
derstand?"  she  added  wistfully. 


Quick   Action 


He  stifled  a  yawn.  American  humour  bored  him 
excessively. 

"You'll  be  back  in  a  day  or  two?"  he  inquired. 
And  laughed  violently  when  the  subtlety  of  his 
own  wit  struck  him. 

"In  a  day  or  two  or  not  at  all.  Good-bye,  Stir 
rups." 

"Bye." 

The  sun  blazed  on  her  coppery  hair  and  on 
the  white  skin  that  never  burned,  as  she  walked 
slowly  across  the  yacht's  deck  and  disappeared 
below. 

While  she  was  writing  in  her  cabin,  the  Chihua 
hua  dropped  her  anchors.  Miss  Cassillis  listened 
to  the  piping,  the  thud  of  feet  on  deck,  the  rattle 
and  distant  sound  of  voices.  Then  she  con 
tinued  her  note: 

I  merely  desire  to  run  away.  I  don't  know  why, 
Mother,  dear.  But  the  longing  to  bolt  has  been  incu 
bating  for  many  years.  And  now  it's  too  strong  to 
resist.  I  don't  quite  understand  how  it  came  to  a 
crisis  on  deck  just  now,  but  I  looked  at  Stirrups, 
whose  skin  is  too  pink,  and  at  Father,  who  had 
lunched  too  sumptuously,  and  at  the  people  on  deck, 
all  digesting  in  a  row — and  then  at  the  green  woods 
on  shore,  and  the  strip  of  white  where  a  fairy  surf 
was  piling  up  foam  into  magic  castles  and  snowy  bat- 
25 


Quick    Action 


tlements,   ephemeral,  exquisite.     And  all  at  once  it 
came  over  me  that  I  must  go. 

Don't  be  alarmed.  I  shall  provision  a  deck  canoe, 
take  a  tent,  some  rugs  and  books,  and  paddle  into 
that  lagoon.  If  you  will  just  let  me  alone  for  two 
or  three  days,  I  promise  I'll  return  safe  and  sound, 
and  satisfied.  For  something  has  got  to  be  done  in 
regard  to  that  longing  of  mine.  But  really,  I  think 
that  if  you  and  Father  won't  understand,  and  if  you 
send  snooping  people  after  me,  I  won't  come  back  at 
all,  and  I'll  never  marry  Stirrups.  Please  under 
stand  me,  Mother,  dear. 

CECIL. 

This  effusion  she  pinned  to  her  pillow,  then 
rang  for  the  steward  and  ordered  the  canoe  to 
be  brought  alongside,  provisioned  for  a  three 
days'  shooting  trip. 

So  open,  frank,  and  guileless  were  her  orders 
that  nobody  who  took  them  suspected  anything 
unusual;  and  in  the  full  heat  and  glare  of  the 
afternoon  siesta,  when  parents,  fiance,  and  as 
sorted  guests  were  all  asleep  and  in  full  process  of 
digestion  and  the  crew  of  the  Chihuahua  was 
drowsing  from  stem  to  stern,  a  brace  of  sailors 
innocently  connived  at  her  escape,  aided  her  into 
the  canoe,  and,  doubting  nothing,  watched  her 
paddle  away  through  the  inlet,  and  into  the 
26 


Quick    Action 


distant  lagoon,  which  lay  sparkling  in  golden 
and  turquoise  tints,  set  with  palms  like  a  stupid 
picture  in  a  child's  geography. 

Later,  the  Chihuahua  fired  a  frantic  gun. 
Later  still,  two  boats  left  the  yacht,  commanded 
respectively  by  one  angry  parent  and  one  fiance, 
profoundly  bored. 


IV 


WHEN    Miss    Cassillis  heard  the  gun,  it 
sounded  very  far  away.     But  it  irri 
tated    as    well    as    scared    her.       She 
pushed  the  canoe  energetically  through  a  screen 
of  foliage  overhanging  the  bank  of  the  lagoon, 
it  being  merely  her  immediate  instinct  to  hide  her 
self. 

To  her  surprise  and  pleasure,  she  discovered 
herself  in  a  narrow,  deep  lead,  which  had  been  en 
tirely  concealed  by  the  leaves,  and  which  wound 
away  through  an  illimitable  vista  of  reeds,  widen 
ing  as  she  paddled  forward,  until  it  seemed  like 
a  glassy  river  bordered  by  live-oak,  water-oak, 
pine,  and  palmetto,  curving  out  into  a  flat  and 
endless  land  of  forests. 

Here   was   liberty   at   last!      No   pursuit   need 
now  be  feared,  for  the  entrance  to  this  paradise 
28 


Quick   Action 


which  she  had  forced  by  a  chance  impulse  could 
never  be  suspected  by  parent  or  fiance. 

A  little  breeze  blew  her  hair  and  loosened  it; 
silently  her  paddle  dipped,  swept  astern  in  a 
swirl  of  bubbles,  flashed  dripping,  and  dipped 
again. 

Ahead  of  her  a  snake-bird  slipped  from  a  dead 
branch  into  the  water;  a  cormorant  perched  on 
the  whitened  skeleton  of  a  mango,  made  hideous 
efforts  to  swallow  a  mullet  before  her  approach 
disorganized  his  manoeuvres. 

So  silently  the  canoe  stole  along  that  the  fat 
alligators,  dozing -in  the  saw-grass,  dozed  on  until 
she  stirred  them  purposely  with  a  low  tap  of  her 
paddle  against  the  thwarts ;  then  they  rose,  great 
lumbering  bodies  propped  high  on  squatty  legs, 
waddled  swiftly  to  the  bank's  edge,  and  slid  head 
long  into  the  water. 

Everywhere  dragon-flies  glittered  over  the  saw- 
grass  ;  wild  ducks  with  golden  eyes  and  heads  like 
balls  of  brown  plush  swam  leisurely  out  of  the 
way;  a  few  mallard,  pretending  to  be  frightened, 
splashed  and  clattered  into  flight,  the  sunlight 
jewelling  the  emerald  heads  of  the  drakes. 

"Wonderful,  wonderful,"  her  heart  was  singing 
to  itself,  while  her  enchanted  eyes  missed  noth 
ing — neither  the  feebly  flying  and  strangely 
29 


Quick   Action 


shaped,  velvety  black  butterflies,  the  narrow  wings 
of  which  were  striped  with  violent  yellow;  nor  the 
metallic  blue  and  crestless  jays  that  sat  on  sap 
lings,  watching  her;  nor  the  pelicans  fishing  with 
nature's  orange  and  iridescent  net  in  the  shallows ; 
nor  the  tall,  slate-blue  birds  that  marched  in  dig 
nified  retreat  through  the  sedge,  picking  up  their 
stilt-like  legs  with  the  precision  of  German  foot- 
soldiers  on  parade. 

These  and  other  phenomena  made  her  drop 
her  paddle  at  intervals  and  clap  her  hands  softly 
in  an  ecstasy  beyond  mere  exclamation.  How 
restfully  green  was  the  world;  how  limpid  the 
water ;  how  royally  blue  the  heavens  !  Listening, 
she  could  hear  the  soft  stirring  of  palmetto  fronds 
in  the  forests;  the  celestial  song  of  a  little  bird 
that  sat  on  a  sparkle-berry  bush,  its  delicate  long- 
curved  bill  tilted  skyward.  Then  the  deep  note 
of  splendour  flashed  across  the  scheme  of  sound 
and  colour  as  a  crimson  cardinal  alighted  near 
her,  crest  erect. 

But  more  wonderful  than  all  was  that  at  last, 
after  eighteen  years,  she  was  utterly  alone;  and 
liberty  was  showering  its  inestimable  gifts  upon 
her  in  breathless  prodigality — liberty  to  see  with 
her  own  eyes  and  judge  with  her  own  senses;  lib 
erty  to  linger  capriciously  amid  mental  fancies,  to 

30 


They  inspected  each  other,  apparently  bereft  of 
the  power  of  speech." 


Quick   Action 


move  on  impulsively  to  others ;  liberty  to  reflect 
unurged  and  unrestricted;  liberty  to  choose,  to 
reject,  to  ignore. 

Now  and  then  a  brilliant  swimming  snake  filled 
her  with  interest  and  curiosity.  Once,  on  a  flat, 
low  bush,  she  saw  a  dull,  heavy,  blunt-bodied  ser 
pent  lying  asleep  in  the  sun  like  an  old  and  swol 
len  section  of  rubber  hose.  But  when  she  ven 
tured  to  touch  the  bush  with  her  paddle,  the  snake 
reared  high  and  yawned  at  her  with  jaws  which 
seemed  to  be  lined  in  white  satin.  Which  fortu 
nately  made  her  uneasy,  and  she  meddled  no  more 
with  the  Little  Death  of  the  southern  swamps. 

She  was  now  passing  very  close  to  the  edge  of 
the  "hammock,"  where  palmettos  overhung  the 
water;  and  as  the  cool,  dim  woodlands  seemed  to 
invite  her,  she  looked  about  her  leisurely  for  an 
agreeable  landing  place.  There  were  plenty  to 
choose  from ;  and  she  selected  a  little  sandy  point 
under  a  red  cedar  tree,  drove  her  canoe  upon  it, 
and  calmly  stepped  ashore.  And  found  herself 
looking  into  the  countenance  of  Jones. 

For  a  full  minute  they  inspected  each  other,  ap 
parently  bereft  of  the  power  of  speech. 

She  said,  finally :  "About  a  year  ago  last  Febru 
ary,  did  you  happen  to  walk  down  Fifth  Avenue 
— very  busily?    Did  you?" 
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It  took  him  an  appreciable  time  to  concentrate 
for  mental  retrospection. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "I  did." 

"You  were  going  down  town,  weren't   you?" 

"Yes." 

"On  business?" 

"Yes,"  he  said,  bewildered. 

"I  wonder,"  she  said  timidly,  "if  you  would  tell 
me  what  that  business  was?  Do  you  mind?  Be 
cause,  really,  I  don't  mean  to  be  impertin 
ent." 

He  made  an  effort  to  reflect.  It  was  difficult 
to  reflect  and  to  keep  his  eyes  on  her  but  also  it 
is  impolite  to  converse  with  anybody  and  look 
elsewhere.  This  he  had  been  taught  at  his  mother's 
knee — and  sometimes  over  it. 

"My  business  down  town,"  he  said  very  slowly, 
"was  with  an  officer  of  the  Smithsonian  Institu 
tion  who  had  come  on  from  Washington  to  see 
something  which  I  had  brought  with  me  from 
Florida." 

"Would  you  mind  telling  me  what  it  was  you 
brought  with  you  from  Florida?"  she  asked  wist 
fully. 

"No.    It  was  malaria." 

"What!" 

"It  was  malaria,"  he  repeated  politely. 
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"I — I  don't  see  how  you  could — could  show  it 
to  him,"  she  murmured,  perplexed. 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you  how  I  showed  it  to  him.  I 
made  a  little  incision  in  my  skin  with  a  lancet; 
he  made  a  smear  or  two 

"A— what?" 

"A  smear — he  put  a  few  drops  of  my  blood 
on  some  glass  plates." 

"Why?" 

"To  examine  them  under  the  microscope." 

"Why?" 

"So  that  he  might  determine  what  particular 
kind  of  malaria  I  had  brought  back  with  me." 

"Did  he  find  out?"  she  asked,  deeply  interested. 

"Yes,"  said  Jones,  displaying  mild  symptoms 
of  enthusiasm,  "he  discovered  that  I  was  fairly 
swarming  with  a  perfectly  new  and  undescribed 
species  of  bacillus.  That  bacillus,"  he  added, 
with  modest  diffidence,  "is  now  named  after  me." 

She  looked  at  him  very  earnestly,  dropped  her 
blue  eyes,  raised  them  again  after  a  moment: 

"It  must  be — pleasant — to  give  one's  name  to 
a  bacillus." 

"It  is  an  agreeable  and  exciting  privilege. 
When  I  look  into  the  culture  tubes  I  feel  an  inti 
mate  relationship  with  those  bacilli  which  I  have 
never  felt  for  any  human  being." 


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"You — you  are  a —  '  she  hesitated,  with  a 
slight  but  charming  colour  in  her  cheeks,  "a  nat 
uralist,  I  presume?"  And  she  added  hastily,  "No 
doubt  you  are  a  famous  one,  and  my  question 
must  sound  ignorant  and  absurd  to  you.  But  as 
I  do  not  know  your  name " 

"It  is  Jones,"  he  said  gloomily,  " — and  I  am 
not  famous." 

"Mine  is  Cecil  Cassillis ;  and  neither  am  I,"  she 
said.  "But  I  thought  when  naturalists  gave  their 
names  to  butterflies  and  microbes  that  everything 
concerned  immediately  became  celebrated." 

Jones  smiled;  and  she  thought  his  expression 
very  attractive. 

"No,"  he  said,  "fame  crowns  the  man  who,  cele 
brated  only  for  his  wealth,  names  hotels,  tug 
boats,  and  art  galleries  after  himself.  Thus  are 
Immortals  made." 

She  laughed,  standing  there  gracefully  as  a 
boy,  her  hands  resting  on  her  narrow  hips.  She 
laughed  again.  A  tug-boat,  a  hotel,  and  a  cigar 
were  named  after  her  father. 

"Fame  is  an  extraordinary  thing,"  she  said. 
"But  liberty  is  still  more  wonderful,  isn't  it?" 

"Liberty  is  only  comparative,"  he  said,  smiling. 
"There  is  really  no  such  thing  as  absolute  free 
dom." 


Quick    Action 


"You  have  all  the  freedom  you  desire,  haven't 
you?" 

"Well — I  enjoy  the  only  approach  to  absolute 
liberty  I  ever  heard  of." 

"What  kind  of  liberty  is  that?" 

"Freedom  to  think  as  I  please,  no  matter  what 
I'm  obliged  to  do." 

"But  you  do  what  you  please,  too,  don't  you?" 

"Oh,  no !"  he  said  smiling.  "The  man  was  never 
born  who  did  what  he  pleased." 

"Why  not?  You  choose  your  own  work,  don't 
you?" 

"Yes.  But  once  the  liberty  of  choice  is  exer 
cised,  freedom  ends.  I  choose  my  profession. 
There  my  liberty  ends,  because  instantly  I  am 
enslaved  by  the  conditions  which  make  my  choice 
a  profession." 

She  was  deeply  interested.  A  mossy  log  lay 
near  them;  she  seated  herself  to  listen,  her  el 
bow  on  her  knee,  and  her  chin  cupped  in  her  hand. 
But  Jones  became  silent. 

"Were  you  not  in  that  funny  little  boat  that 
passed  the  inlet  about  three  hours  ago?"  she 
asked. 

"The  Orange  Puppy?     Yes." 

"What  an  odd  name  for  a  boat — the  Orange 
Puppy!" 


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"An  orange  puppy,"  he  explained,  "is  the  name 
given  in  the  Florida  orange  groves  to  the  cater 
pillar  of  a  large  swallow-tail  butterfly,  which 
feeds  on  orange  leaves.  The  butterfly  it  turns 
into  is  known  to  entomologists  as  Papilio  cres- 
phontes  and  Papilio  thoas.  The  latter  is  a  mis 
nomer." 

She  gazed  upon  this  young  man  in  undisguised 
admiration. 

"Once,"  she  said,  "when  I  was  nine  years  old,  I 
ran  away  from  a  governess  and  two  trained 
nurses.  They  found  me  with  both  hands  full  of 
muddy  pollywogs.  It  has  nothing  to  do  with 
what  you  are  saying,  but  I  thought  I'd  tell 
you." 

He  insisted  that  the  episode  she  recalled  was 
most  interesting  and  unusual,  considered  purely 
as  a  human  document. 

"Would  you  tell  me  what  you  are  doing  down 
here  in  these  forests?"  she  asked,  " — as  we  are 
discussing  human  documents." 

"Yes,"  he  said.  "I  am  investigating  several 
thousand  small  caterpillars  which  are  feeding  on 
the  scrub-palmetto." 

"Is  that  your  business?" 

"Exactly.  If  you  will  remain  very  still  for  a 
moment  and  listen  very  intently  you  can  hear  the 
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noise  which  these  caterpillars  make  while  they  are 
eating." 

She  thought  of  the  Chihuahua,  and  it  occurred 
to  her  that  she  had  rather  tired  of  seeing  things 
eat.  However,  except  in  Europe,  she  had  never 
heard  things  eat.  So  she  listened. 

He  said:  "These  caterpillars  are  in  their  third 
moult — that  is,  they  have  changed  their  skin 
three  times  since  emerging  from  the  egg — and  are 
now  busily  chewing  the  immature  fruit  of  the 
scrub-palmetto.  You  can  hear  them  very 
plainly." 

She  sat  silent,  spellbound ;  and  presently  in  the 
woodland  stillness,  all  around  her  she  heard  the 
delicate  and  continuous  sound — the  steady,  sus 
tained  noise  of  thousands  of  tiny  jaws,  all  crunch 
ing,  all  busily  working  together.  And  when  she 
realized  what  the  elfin  rustle  really  meant,  she 
turned  her  delighted  and  grateful  eyes  on  Jones. 
And  the  beauty  of  them  made  him  exceedingly 
thoughtful. 

"Will  you  explain  to  me/'  she  whispered,  "why 
you  are  studying  these  caterpillars,  Mr.  Jones?" 

"Because  they  are  spreading  out  over  the  for 
ests.  Until  recently  this  particular  species  of 
caterpillar,  and  the  pretty  little  moth  into  which 
it  ultimately  turns,  were  entirely  confined  to  a 
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narrow  strip  of  jungle,  only  a  few  miles  long, 
lying  on  the  Halifax  River.  Nowhere  else  in  all 
the  world  could  these  little  creatures  be  found. 
But  recently  they  have  been  reported  from  the 
Dead  Lake  country.  So  the  Smithsonian  Institu 
tion  sent  me  down  here  to  study  them,  and  find 
out  whither  they  were  spreading,  and  whether  any 
natural  parasitic  enemies  had  yet  appeared  to 
check  them. 

She  gazed  at  him,  fascinated. 

"Have  any  appeared?"  she  asked,  under  her 
breath. 

"I  have  not  yet  found  a  single  creature  that 
preys  upon  them." 

"Isn't  it  a  very  arduous  and  difficult  task  to 
watch  these  thousands  of  little  caterpillars  all  day 
long?" 

"It  is  quite  impossible  for  me  to  do  it  thor 
oughly  all  alone." 

"Would  you  like  to  have  me  help  you?"  she 
asked  innocently. 

Which  rather  bowled  him  over,  but  he  said: 

"I'd  b-b-be  d-d-delighted — only  you  haven't 
time,  have  you?" 

"I  have  three  days.  I've  brought  a  tent,  you 
see,  and  everything  necessary — rugs,  magazines, 
blankets,  toilet  articles,  bonbons,  books — every- 
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thing,  in  fact,  to  last  three  days.   .   .  I  wonder 
how  that  tent  is  put  up.     Do  you  know?" 

He  went  over  to  the  canoe  and  gazed  at  the 
tent. 

"I  think  I  could  pitch  it  for  you,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  thanks  so  much!  May  I  help  you?  I  think 
I'll  put  it  here  on  this  pretty  stretch  of  white 
sand  by  the  water's  edge." 

"I'm  afraid  that  wouldn't  do,"  he  said,  gravely. 

"Why?" 

"Because  the  lagoon  is  tidal.  You'd  be  awash 
sooner  or  later." 

"I  see.  Well,  then,  anywhere  in  the  woods  will 
do " 

"Not  anywhere,"  he  said,  smiling.  "High  water 
leaves  few  dry  places  in  this  forest;  in  fact — I'm 
afraid  that  my  shack  is  perched  on  the  only  spot 
which  is  absolutely  dry  at  all  times.  It  is  a  shell 
mound — the  only  one  in  the  Dead  Lake  region." 

"Isn't  there  room  for  my  tent  beside  yours?" 
she  asked,  a  trifle  anxiously. 

"Y-es,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  as  matter  of  fact 
as  her  own.  "How  many  will  there  be  in  your 
party?" 

"In  my  parti/!  Why,  only  myself,"  she  said, 
with  smiling  animation. 

"Oh,  I  see!"     But  he  didn't. 
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They  lugged  the  tent  back  among  the  trees  to 
the  low  shell  mound,  where  in  the  centre  of  a 
ring  of  pines  and  evergreen  oaks  his  open-faced 
shack  stood,  thatched  with  palmetto  fans.  She 
gazed  upon  the  wash  drying  on  the  line,  upon  a 
brace  of  dead  ducks  hanging  from  the  eaves,  upon 
the  smoky  kettle  and  the  ashes  of  the  fire.  Pur 
est  delight  sparkled  in  her  blue  eyes. 

Erecting  her  silk  tent  with  practiced  hands, 
he  said  carelessly: 

"In  case  you  cared  to  send  any  word  to  the 
yacht " 

"Did  I  say  that  I  came  from  the  yacht?"  she 
asked;  and  her  straight  eyebrows  bent  a  trifle 
inward. 

"Didn't  you?" 

"Will  you  promise  me  something,  Mr.  Jones?" 

The  things  he  was  prepared  to  promise  her 
choked  him  for  a  second,  but  when  he  regained 
control  of  his  vocal  powers  he  said,  very  pleas 
antly,  that  he  would  gladly  promise  her  any 
thing. 

"Then  don't  ask  me  where  I  came  from.  Let 
me  stay  three  days.  Then  I'll  go  very  quietly 
away,  and  never  trouble  you  again.  Is  it  a  prom 
ise?" 

"Yes,"  he  said,  not  looking  at  her.     His  face 
40 


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had  become  very  serious ;  she  noticed  it — and  how 
well  his  head  was  set  on  his  shoulders,  and  how 
his  clipped  hair  was  burned  to  the  color  of  crisp 
hay. 

"You  were  Harvard,  of  course,"  she  said,  un 
thinkingly. 

"Yes."     He  mentioned  the  year. 

"Not  crew?" 

"No." 

"Baseball?" 

"  'Varsity  pitcher,"  he  nodded,  surprised. 

"Then  this  is  the  third  time  I've  seen  you.  .  . 
I  wonder  what  it  is  about  you —  '  She  remained 
silent,  watching  him  burying  her  water  bottles 
in  the  cool  marl. 

When  all  was  in  order,  he  smiled,  made  her  a 
little  formal  bow,  and  evinced  a  disposition  to 
retire  and  leave  her  in  possession. 

"I  thought  we  were  going  to  work  at  once !" 
she  said  uneasily.  "I  am  quite  ready."  And, 
as  he  did  not  seem  to  comprehend,  "I  was  going 
to  help  you  to  examine  the  little  caterpillars,  one 
by  one ;  and  the  minute  I  saw  anything  trying  to 
bite  them  I  was  going  to  call  you.  Didn't  you 
understand?"  she  added  wistfully. 

"That  will  be  fine !"  he  said,  with  an  enthusiasm 
very  poorly  controlled. 

41 


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"You  will  show  me  where  the  little  creatures 
are  hiding,  won't  you?" 

"Indeed  I  will !  Here  they  are,  all  about  us !" 
He  made  a  sweeping  gesture  over  the  low  under 
growth  of  scrub-palmetto ;  and  the  next  moment : 

"I  see  them!"  she  exclaimed,  delighted.  "Oh, 
what  funny,  scrubby,  busy  little  creatures !  They 
are  everywhere — everywhere!  Why,  there  seem 
to  be  thousands  and  thousands  of  them !  And 
all  are  eating  the  tiny  green  bunches  of  fruit!" 

They  bent  together  over  a  group  of  feeding 
larvae;  he  handed  her  a  pocket  microscope  like 
his  own;  and,  enchanted,  she  studied  the  tiny 
things  while  he  briefly  described  their  various 
stages  of  development  from  the  little  eggs  to  the 
pretty,  pearl-tinted  moth  so  charmingly  striped 
with  delicate,  brown  lines — a  rare  prize  in  the 
cabinet  of  any  collector. 


THROUGH  the  golden  forest  light  of  after 
noon,  they  moved  from  shrub  to  shrub; 
and  he  taught  her  to  be  on  the  watch  for 
any  possible  foes  of  the  neat  and  busy  little  cater 
pillars,  warning  her  to  watch  for  birds,  spiders, 
beetles,  ichneumon  flies,  possibly  squirrels  or  even 
hornets.     She  nodded  her  comprehension ;  he  went 
one  way,  she  the  other.     For  nearly  ten  minutes 
they  remained  separated,  and  it  seemed  ages  to 
one  of  them  anyway. 

But  the  caterpillars  appeared  to  be  immune. 
Nothing  whatever  interfered  with  them;  wander 
ing  beetles  left  them  unmolested;  no  birds  even 
noticed  them ;  no  gauzy-winged  and  parasitic  flies 
investigated  them. 

"Mr.  Jones!"  she  called. 
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He  was  at  her  side  in  an  instant. 

"I  only  wanted  to  know  where  you  were,"  she 
said  happily. 

The  sun  hung  red  over  the  lagoon  when  they 
sauntered  back  to  camp.  She  went  into  her  tent 
with  a  cheerful  nod  to  him,  which  said: 

"I've  had  a  splendid  time,  and  I'll  rejoin  you  in 
a  few  moments." 

When  she  emerged  in  fresh  white  flannels,  she 
found  him  writing  in  a  blank-book. 

"I  wonder  if  I  might  see?"  she  said.  "If  it's 
scientific,  I  mean." 

"It  is,  entirely." 

So  she  seated  herself  on  the  ground  beside  him, 
and  read  over  his  shoulder  the  entries  he  was 
making  in  his  field  book  concerning  the  day's 
doings.  When  he  had  finished  his  entry,  she  said : 

"You  have  not  mentioned  my  coming  to  you, 
and  how  we  looked  for  ichneumon  flies  together." 

"I "     He  was  silent. 

She  added  timidly:  "I  know  I  count  for  abso 
lutely  nothing  in  the  important  experiences  of  a 
naturalist,  but — I  did  look  very  hard  for  ichneu 
mon  flies.  Couldn't  you  write  in  your  field  book 
that  I  tried  very  hard  to  help  you?" 

He  wrote  gravely : 

"Miss  Cassillis  most  generously  volunteered  her 
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invaluable  aid,  and  spared  no  effort  to  discover 
any  possible  foe  that  might  prove  to  be  para 
sitic  upon  these  larvae.  But  so  far  without  suc 
cess." 

"Thank  you,"  she  said,  in  a  very  low  voice. 
And  after  a  short  silence :  "It  was  not  mere  van 
ity,  Mr.  Jones.  Do  you  understand?" 

"I  know  it  was  not  vanity,  even  if  I  do  not 
entirely  understand." 

"Shall  I  tell  you?" 

"Please." 

"It  was  the  first  thing  that  I  have  ever  been 
permitted  to  do  all  by  myself.  It  meant  so  much 
to  me.  .  .  And  I  wished  to  have  a  little  record  of 
it — even  if  you  think  it  is  of  no  scientific  im 
portance." 

"It  is  of  more  importance  than —  But  he 

managed  to  stop  himself,  slightly  startled.  She 
had  lifted  her  head  from  the  pages  of  the  field 
book  to  look  at  him.  When  his  voice  failed,  and 
while  the  red  burned  brilliantly  in  his  ears,  she 
resumed  her  perusal  of  his  journal,  gravely. 
After  a  while,  though  she  turned  the  pages  as  if 
she  were  really  reading,  he  concluded  that  her 
mind  was  elsewhere.  It  was. 

Presently  he  rose,  mended  the  fire,  filled  the  ket 
tle,  and  unhooked  the  brace  of  wild  ducks  from 
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the  eaves  where  they  swung,  and  marched  off  with 
them  toward  the  water. 

When  he  returned,  the  ducks  were  plucked  and 
split  for  broiling.  He  found  her  seated  as  he 
had  left  her,  dreaming  awake,  idle  hands  folded 
on  the  pages  of  his  open  field  book. 

For  dinner  they  had  broiled  mallard,  coffee, 
ash-cakes,  and  bon-bons.  After  it  she  smoked  a 
cigarette  with  him. 

Later  she  informed  him  that  it  was  her  first, 
and  that  she  liked  it,  and  requested  another. 

"Don't,"  he  said,  smiling. 

"Why?" 

"It  spoils  a  girl's  voice,  ultimately." 

"But  it's  very  agreeable." 

"Will  you  promise  not  to?"  he  asked,  lightly. 

Suddenly  her  blue  eyes  became  serious. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "if  you  wish." 

The  woods  grew  darker.  Far  across  the  lagoon 
a  tiger-owl  woke  up  and  began  to  yelp  like  a 
half-strangled  hobgoblin. 

She  sat  silent  for  a  little  while,  then  very 
quietly  and  frankly  put  her  hand  on  Jones's.  It 
was  shaking. 

"I  am  afraid  of  that  sound,"  she  said  calmly. 

"It  is  only  a  big  owl,"  he  reassured  her,  re 
taining  her  hand. 

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"Is  that  what  it  is?  How  very  dark  the  woods 
are !  I  had  no  idea  that  there  could  be  such  utter 
darkness.  I  am  not  sure  that  I  care  for  it." 

"There  is  nothing  to  harm  you  in  these  woods." 

"No  bears  and  wolves   and  panthers?" 

"There  are  a  few — and  all  very  anxious  to  keep 
away  from  anything  human." 

"Are  you  sure?" 

"Absolutely." 

"Do  you  mind  if  I  leave  my  hand  where  it  is?" 

It  appeared  that  he  had  no  insurmountable  ob 
jections. 

After  the  seventh  tiger-owl  had  awakened  and 
the  inky  blackness  quivered  with  the  witch-like 
shouting  and  hellish  tumult,  he  felt  her  shoulder 
pressing  against  his.  And  bending  to  look  into 
her  face  saw  that  all  the  colour  in  it  had  fled. 

"You  mustn't  be  frightened,"  he  said  earnestly. 

"But  I  am.  I'm  sorry.  .  .  I'll  try  to  accustom 
myself  to  it.  .  .  The  darkness  is  a — a  trifle  ter 
rifying — isn't  it?" 

"It's  beautiful,  too,"  he  said,  looking  up  at  the 
firelit  foliage  overhead.  She  looked  up  also,  her 
slender  throat  glimmering  rosy  in  the  embers' 
glare.  After  a  moment  she  nodded: 

"It  is  wonderful.  .  .  If  I  only  had  a  little  time 
to  accustom  myself  to  it  I  am  sure  I  should  love 
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it.   .   .  Oh!    What  was  that  very  loud  splash  out 
there  in  the  dark?" 

"A  big  fish  playing  in  the  lagoon;  or  perhaps 
wild  ducks  feeding." 

After  a  few  minutes  he  felt  her  soft  hand 
tighten  within  his. 

"It  sounds  as  though  some  great  creature  were 
prowling  around  our  fire,"  she  whispered.  "Do 
you  hear  its  stealthy  tread?" 

"Noises  in  the  forest  are  exaggerated,"  he  said 
carelessly.  "It  may  be  a  squirrel  or  some  little 
furry  creature  out  hunting  for  his  supper.  Please 
don't  be  afraid." 

"Then  it  isn't  a  bear?" 

"No,  dear,"  he  said,  so  naturally  and  unthink 
ingly  that  for  a  full  second  neither  realised  the 
awful  break  of  Delancy  Jones. 

When  they  did  they  said  nothing  about  it.  But 
it  was  some  time  before  speech  was  resumed.  She 
was  the  first  to  recover.  Perhaps  the  demoralisa 
tion  was  largely  his.  It  usually  is  that  way. 

She  said :  "This  has  been  the  most  perfect  day 
of  my  entire  life.  I'm  even  glad  I  am  a  little 
scared.  It  is  delicious  to  be  a  trifle  afraid.  But 
I'm  not,  now — very  much.  .  .  Is  there  any  es 
tablished  hour  for  bedtime  in  the  woods  ?" 

"Inclination  sounds  the  hour." 
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Quick   fiction 


"Isn't  that  wonderful!"  she  sighed,  her  eyes 
on  the  fire.  "Inclination  rules  in  the  forest.  .  . 
And  here  I  am." 

The  firelight  on  her  copper-tinted  hair  masked 
her  lovely  eyes  in  a  soft  shadow.  Her  shoulder 
stirred  rhythmically  as  she  breathed. 

"And  here  you  live  all  alone,"  she  mused,  half 
to  herself.  .  .  "I  once  saw  you  pitch  a  game 
against  Yale.  .  .  And  the  next  time  I  saw  you 
walking  very  busily  down  Fifth  Avenue.  .  .  And 
now — you  are — here.  .  .  That  is  wonderful.  .  . 
Everything  seems  to  be  wonderful  in  this  place.  . . 
Wh-what  is  that  flapping  noise,  please?" 

"Two  herons  fighting  in  the  sedge." 

"You  know  everything.  .  .  That  is  the  most 
wonderful  of  all.  And  yet  you  say  you  are  not 
famous  ?" 

"Nobody  ever  heard  of  me  outside  the  Smith 
sonian." 

"But — you  must  become  famous.  To-morrow  I 
shall  look  very  hard  for  an  ichneumon  fly  for 
you " 

"But  your  discovery  will  make  you  famous, 
Miss  Cassillis — 

"Why — why,  it's  for  you  that  I  am  going  to 
search  so  hard !    Did  you  suppose  I  would  dream 
of  claiming  any  of  the  glory !" 
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Quick   Action 


He  said,  striving  to  speak  coolly: 

"It  is  very  generous  and  sweet  of  you.  .  .  And, 
after  all,  I  hardly  suppose  that  you  need  any 
added  lustre  or  any  additional  happiness  in  a  life 
which  must  be  so  full,  so  complete,  and  so  care 
free." 

She  was  silent  for  a  while,  then: 

"Is  your  life  then  so  full  of  care,  Mr.  Jones?" 

"Oh,  no,"  he  said;  "I  get  on  somehow." 

"Tell  me,"  she  insisted. 

"What  am  I  to  tell  you?" 

"Why  it  is  that  your  life  is  care-ridden." 

"But  it  isn't " 

"Tell  me!" 

He  said,  gaily  enough:  "To  labour  for  others 
is  sometimes  a  little  irksome.  .  .  I  am  not  dis 
contented.  .  .  Only,  if  I  had  means — if  I  had 
barely  sufficient — there  are  so  many  fascinating 
and  exciting  lines  of  independent  research  to  fol 
low — to  make  a  name  in "  He  broke  off  with 

a  light  laugh,  leaned  forward  and  laid  another 
log  on  the  fire. 

"You  can  not  afford  it?"  she  asked,  in  a  low 
voice ;  and  for  the  moment  astonishment  ruled  her 
to  discover  that  this  very  perfect  specimen  of 
intelligent  and  gifted  manhood  was  struggling 
under  such  an  amazingly  trifling  disadvantage. 
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Only  from  reading  and  from  hearsay  had  she 
been  even  vaguely  acquainted  with  the  existence  of 
poverty. 

"No,"  he  said  pleasantly,  "I  can  not  yet  afford 
myself  the  happiness  of  independent  research." 

"When  will  you  be  able  to  afford  it?" 

Neither  were  embarrassed;  he  looked  thought 
fully  into  the  fire;  and  for  a  while  she  watched 
him  in  his  brown  study. 

"Will  it  be  soon?"  she  asked,  under  her  breath. 

"No,  dear." 

That  time  a  full  minute  intervened  before  either 
realised  how  he  had  answered.  And  both  re 
mained  exceedingly  still  until  she  said  calmly: 

"I  thought  you  were  the  very  ideal  embodiment 
of  personal  liberty.  And  now  I  find  that  wretched 
and  petty  and  ignoble  circumstances  fetter  even 
such  a  man  as  you  are.  It — it  is — is  heartbreak- 
ing." 

"It  won't  last  forever,"  he  said,  controlling  his 
voice. 

"But  the  years  are  going — the  best  years,  Mr., 
Jones.  And  your  life's  work  beckons  you.  And! 
you  are  equipped  for  it,  and  you  can  not  take 
it!" 

"Some  day But  he  could  say  no  more 

then,  with  her  hand  tightening  in  his. 
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"To — to  rise  superior  to  circumstances — that 
is  god-like,  isn't  it?"  she  said. 

"Yes."  He  laughed.  "But  on  six  hundred  dol 
lars  a  year  a  man  can't  rise  very  high  above  cir 
cumstances." 

The  shock  left  her  silent.  Any  gown  of  hers 
cost  more  than  that.  Then  the  awfulness  of  it 
all  rose  before  her  in  its  true  and  hideous  pro 
portions.  And  there  was  nothing  for  her  to  do 
about  it,  nothing,  absolutely  nothing,  except  to 
endure  the  degradation  of  her  wealth  and  remem 
ber  that  the  merest  tithe  of  it  could  have  made 
this  man  beside  her  immortally  famous — if,  per 
haps,  no  more  wonderful  than  he  already  was  in 
her  eyes. 

Was  there  no  way  to  aid  him?  She  could  look 
for  ichneumon  flies  in  the  morning.  And  on  the 
morning  after  that.  And  the  next  morning  she 
would  say  good-bye  and  go  away  forever — out  of 
this  enchanted  forest,  out  of  his  life,  back  to  the 
Chihuahua,  and  to  her  guests  who  ate  often  and 
digested  all  day  long — back  to  her  father,  her 
mother — back  to  Stirrups 

He  felt  her  hand  close  on  his  convulsively,  and 
turned  to  encounter  her  flushed  and  determined 
face. 

"You  like  me,  don't  you?"  she  said. 
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Quick'  Action 


"Yes."  After  a  moment  he  said:  "Yes — ab 
solutely." 

"Do  you  like  me  enough  to — to  let  me  help  you 
in  your  research  work — to  be  patient  enough  to 
teach  me  a  little  until  I  catch  up  with  you?  .  . 
So  we  can  go  on  together?  .  .  I  know  I  am  pre 
sumptuous — perhaps  importunate — but  I  thought 
— somehow — if  you  did  like  me  well  enough — it 
would  be — very  agreeable 

"It  would  be!  .  .  And  I — like  you  enough  for 
— anything.  But  you  could  not  remain  here " 

"I  don't  mean  here." 

"Where,  then?" 

"Where?"  She  looked  vaguely  about  her  in 
the  firelight.  "Why,  everywhere.  Wherever  you 
go  to  make  your  researches." 

"Dear,  I  would  go  to  Ceylon  if  I  could." 

"I  also,"  she  said. 

He  turned  a  little  pale,  looking  at  her  in  silence. 
She  said  calmly:  "What  would  you  do  in  Cey 
lon?" 

"Study  the  unknown  life-histories  of  the  rarer 
Ornithoptera." 

She  knew  no  more  than  a  kitten  what  he  meant. 
But  she  wanted  to  know,  and,  moreover,  was  per 
fectly  capable  of  comprehending. 

"Whatever  you  desire  to  study,"  she  said, 
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"would  prove  delightful  to  me.  .  .  If  you  want 
me.  Do  you?" 

"Want  you!"     Then  he  bit  his  lip. 

"Don't  you?  Tell  me  frankly  if  you  don't. 
But  I  think,  somehow,  you  would  not  make  a  mis 
take  if  you  did  want  me.  I  really  am  intelligent. 
I  didn't  know  it  until  I  talked  with  you.  Now, 
I  know  it.  But  I  have  never  been  able  to  give 
expression  to  it  or  cultivate  it.  .  .  And,  some 
how,  I  know  I  would  not  be  a  drag  on  you — if  you 
would  teach  me  a  little  in  the  beginning." 

He  said:  "What  can  I  teach  you,  Cecil?  Not 
the  heavenly  frankness  that  you  already  use  so 
sweetly.  Not  the  smiling  and  serene  nobility 
which  carries  your  head  so  daintily  and  so  fear 
lessly.  Not  the  calm  purity  of  thought,  nor  the 
serene  goodness  of  mind  that  has  graciously  in 
cluded  a  poor  devil  like  me  in  your  broad  and  gen 
erous  sympathies ' 

"Please!"  she  faltered,  flushing.  "I  am  not 
what  you  say — though  to  hear  you  say  such 
things  is  a  great  happiness — a  pleasure — very  in 
tense — and  wonderful — and  new.  But  I  am  noth 
ing,  nothing — unless  I  should  become  useful  to 
you.  I  could  amount  to  something — with — 

you '  She  checked  herself;  looked  at  him  as 

though  a  trifle  frightened.  "Unless,"  she  added 
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with  an  effort,  "you  are  in  love  with  somebody 
else.     I  didn't  think  of  that.     Are  you?" 

"No,"  he  said.     "Are  you?" 

"No.  .  .  I  have  never  been  in  love.  .  .  This  is 
the  nearest  I  have  come  to  it." 

"And  I." 

She  smiled  faintly. 

"If  we " 

"Oh,  yes,"  he  said,  calmly,  "if  we  are  to  pass 
the  balance  of  our  existence  in  combined  research, 
it  would  be  rather  necessary  for  us  to  marry." 

"Do  you  mind?" 

"On  the  contrary.     Do  you?" 

"Not  in  the  least.  Do  you  really  mean  it?  It 
wouldn't  be  disagreeable,  would  it?  You  are 
above  marrying  for  mere  sentiment,  aren't  you? 
Because,  somehow,  I  seem  to  know  you  like  me.  .  . 
And  it  would  be  death  for  me — a  mental  death — to 
go  back  now  to — to  Stirrups — 

"Where?" 

"To — why  do  you  ask?  Couldn't  you  take  me 
on  faith?" 

He  said,  unsteadily :  "If  you  rose  up  out  of  the 
silvery  lagoon,  just  born  from  the  starlight  and 
the  mist,  I  would  take  you." 

"You — you    are    a    poet,    too,"    she    faltered. 
"You  seem  to  be  about  everything  desirable.3' 
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"I'm  only  a  man  very,  very  deep  in — love." 

"In  love !  .   .  .  I  thought " 

"Ah,  but  you  need  think  no  more.  You  know 
now,  Cecil." 

She  remained  silent,  thinking  for  a  long  while. 
Then,  very  quietly: 

"Yes,  I  know.  .  .  It  is  that  way  with  me  also. 
For  I  no  sooner  find  my  liberty  than  I  lose  it — 
in  the  same  moment — to  you.  We  must  never 
again  be  separated.  .  .  Do  you  feel  as  I  do?" 

"Absolutely.  .  .  But  it  must  be  so." 

"Why?"  she  asked,  troubled. 

"For  one  thing,  I  shall  have  to  work  harder 
now." 

"Why?" 

"Don't  you  know  we  can  not  marry  on  what 
I  have?" 

"Oh!  Is  that  the  reason?"  She  laughed, 
sprang  lightly  to  her  feet,  stood  looking  down 
at  him.  He  got  up,  slowly. 

"I  bring  you,"  she  said,  "six  hundred  dollars 
a  year.  And  a  little  more.  Which  sweeps  away 
that  obstacle.  Doesn't  it?" 

"I  could  not  ask  you  to  live  on  that " 

"I  can  live  on  what  you  live  on !  I  should  wish 
to.  It  would  make  me  utterly  and  supremely 
happy." 

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Her  flushed,  young  face  confronted  his  as  she 
took  a  short,  eager  step  toward  him. 

"I  am  not  making  love  to  you,"  she  said,  " — at 
least,  I  don't  think  I  am.  All  I  desire  is  to  help 
— to  give  you  myself — my  youth,  energy,  ambi 
tion,  intelligence — and  what  I  have — which  is  of 
no  use  to  me  unless  it  is  useful  to  you.  Won't 
you  take  these  things  from  me?" 

"Do  you  give  me  your  heart,  too,  Cecil?" 

She  smiled  faintly,  knowing  now  that  she  had 
already  given  it.  She  did  not  answer,  but  her 
under  lip  trembled,  and  she  caught  it  between  her 
teeth  as  he  took  her  hands  and  kissed  them  in 
silence. 


VI 


MIAMI  is  not  very  far,  is  it?"  she  asked,  as 
she  sprang  aboard  the  Orange  Puppy. 

"Not  very,  dear." 

"We  could  get  a  license  immediately,  couldn't 
we?" 

"I  think  so." 

"And  then  it  will  not  take  us  very  long  to  get 
married,  will  it?" 
"Not  very." 

"What    a    wonderful    night!"    she    murmured, 
looking  up  at  the  stars.     She  turned  toward  the 

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shore.  "What  a  wonderful  place  for  a  honey 
moon!  .  .  .  And  we  can  continue  business,  too, 
and  watch  our  caterpillars  all  day  long!  Oh,  it 
is  all  too  wonderful,  wonderful !"  She  kissed  her 
hand  to  the  unseen  camp.  "We  will  be  back  to 
morrow!"  she  called  softly.  Then  a  sudden 
thought  struck  her.  "You  never  can  get  the 
Orange  Puppy  through  that  narrow  lead,  can 
you?" 

"Oh,  there  is  an  easier  way  out,"  he  said,  tak 
ing  the  tiller  as  the  sail  filled. 

Her  head  dropped  back  against  his  knees.  Now 
and  then  her  lips  moved,  murmuring  in  sheerest 
happiness  the  thoughts  that  drifted  through  her 
enchanted  mind. 

"I  wonder  when  it  began,"  she  whispered,  " — at 
the  ball-game — or  on  Fifth  Avenue — or  when  I 
saw  you  here?  It  seems  to  me  as  if  I  always  had 
been  in  love  with  you." 

Outside  in  the  ocean,  the  breeze  stiffened  and 
the  perfume  was  tinged  with  salt. 

Lying  back  against  his  knees,  her  eyes  fixed 
dreamily  on  the  stars,  she  murmured: 

"Stirrups  will  be  surprised." 

"What  are  you  talking  about  down  there  all  by 
yourself?"  he  whispered,  bending  over  her. 

She  looked  up  into  his  eyes.  Suddenly  her  own 
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filled;   and  she  put  up  both  arms,  linking  them 
around  his  neck. 

And  so  the  Orange  Puppy  sailed  away  into 
the  viewless,  formless,  starry  mystery  of  all  ro 
mance. 


After  a  silence  the  young  novelist,  who  had 
been  poking  the  goldfish,  said  slowly:  "That's 
pretty  poor  fiction,  Athalie,  but,  as  a  matter  of 
simple  fact  and  inartistic  truth,  recording  senti 
mental  celerity,  it  stands  unequalled." 

"Straight  facts  make  poor  fiction,"  remarked 
Duane. 

"It  all  depends  on  who  makes  the  fiction  out  of 
them,"  I  ventured. 

"Not  always,"  said  Athalie.  "There  are  facts 
which  when  straightly  told  are  far  stranger  than 
fiction.  I  noticed  a  case  of  that  sort  in  my  crys 
tal  last  winter."  And  to  the  youthful  novelist 
she  said:  "Don't  try  to  guess  who  the  people 
were  if  I  tell  it,  will  you?" 

"No,"  he  promised. 

"Please  fix  my  cushions,"  she  said  to  nobody 
in  particular.  And  after  the  stampede  was  over 
she  selected  another  cigarette,  thoughtfully,  but 
did  not  light  it. 

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VII 


YOU  are  queer  folk,  you  writers  of  fiction," 
she  mused  aloud.     "No  monarch  ordained 
of  God  takes  himself  more  seriously ;  no 
actor  lives  more  absolutely  in  a  world  made  out 
of  his  imagination." 

She  lighted  her  cigarette:  "You  often  speak 
of  your  most  'important'  book, — as  though  any 
fiction  ever  written  were  important.  Painters 
speak  of  their  most  important  pictures ;  sculp 
tors,  composers,  creative  creatures  of  every  spe 
cies  employ  the  adjective.  And  it  is  all  very 
silly.  Facts  only  can  be  characterised  as  im 
portant  ;  figments  of  the  creative  imagination  are 
as  unimportant —  '  she  blew  a  dainty  ring  of 
smoke  toward  the  crystal  globe — "as  that!  'Tout 
ce  qu'ont  fait  les  hommes,  les  hommes  peuvent  le 
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detruire.  11  n'y  a  de  caracteres  ineffacables  que 
ceux  qu'  imprime  la  nature.'  There  has  never 
been  but  one  important  author." 

I  said  smilingly:  "To  quote  the  gentleman  you 
think  important  enough  to  quote,  Athalie,  'Tout 
est  bien  sort  ant  des  mains  de  VAuteur  des  clioses: 
tout  degenere  entre  les  mains  de  I'homme.' ' 

Said  the  novelist  simply:  "Imagination  alone 
makes  facts  important.  'Cette  superbe  puissance, 
ennemie  de  la  raison!' ' 

"0  Athalie,"  whispered  Duane,  "night-bloom 
ing,  exquisite  blossom  of  the  arid  municipal  des 
ert,  recount  for  us  these  facts  which  you  possess 
and  which,  in  your  delightful  opinion,  are 
stranger  than  fiction,  and  more  important." 

And  Athalie,  choosing  another  sweetmeat, 
looked  at  us  until  it  had  dissolved  in  her  fragrant 
mouth.  Then  she  spoke  very  gravely,  while  her 
dark  eyes  laughed  at  us : 


When  young  Lord  Willowmere's  fiancee  ran 
away  from  him  and  married  Delancy  Jones,  that 
bereaved  nobleman  experienced  a  certain  portion 
of  the  universal  shock  which  this  social  seismic 
disturbance  spread  far  and  wide  over  two  hemi 
spheres. 

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That  such  a  girl  should  marry  beneath  her 
naturally  disgusted  everybody.  So  both  Jones 
and  his  wife  were  properly  damned. 

England  read  its  morning  paper,  shrugged  its 
derision,  and  remarked  that  nobody  ought  to  be 
surprised  at  anything  that  happened  in  the 
States.  "The  States"  swallowed  the  rebuke  and 
squirmed. 

Now,  among  the  sturdy  yeomanry,  gentry,  and 
nobility  of  those  same  British  and  impressive  Isles 
there  was  an  earnest  gentleman  whose  ample  waist 
and  means  and  scholarly  tastes  inclined  him  to  a 
sedentary  life  of  research.  The  study  of  human 
nature  in  its  various  native  and  exotic  phases  had 
for  forty  years  obsessed  his  insular  intellect. 
Philologist,  anthropologist,  calm  philosopher,  and 
benignant  observer,  this  gentleman,  who  had  never 
visited  the  United  States,  determined  to  do  so 
now.  For,  he  reasoned — and  very  properly — a 
country  where  such  a  thing  could  happen  to  a 
British  nobleman  and  a  Peer  of  the  Realm  must 
be  worth  exploring,  and  its  curious  inhabitants 
merited,  perhaps,  the  impersonally  judicial  in 
spection  of  an  F.  R.  B.  A.  whose  gigantic  work 
on  the  folk  manners  of  the  world  had  now  reached 
its  twentieth  volume,  without  as  yet  including  the 
United  States.  So  he  determined  to  devote  sev- 
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eral  chapters  in  the  forthcoming  and  twenty-first 
volume  to  the  recent  colonies  of  Great  Britain. 

Now,  when  the  Duke  of  Pillchester  concluded 
to  do  anything,  that  thing  was  invariably  and 
thoroughly  done.  And  so,  before  it  entirely  re 
alised  the  honour  in  store  for  it,  the  United  States 
was  buttoning  its  collar,  tying  its  white  tie,  and 
rushing  down  stairs  to  open  its  front  door  to  the 
Duke  of  Pillchester,  the  Duchess  of  Pillchester, 
and  the  Lady  Alene  Innesly,  their  youthful  and 
ornamental  daughter. 

For  a  number  of  months  after  its  arrival,  the 
Ducal  party  inspected  the  Yankee  continent 
through  a  lens  made  for  purposes  of  scientific 
investigation  only.  The  massed  wealth  of  the 
nation  met  their  Graces  in  solid  divisions  of  so 
cial  worth.  The  shock  was  mutual. 

Then  the  massed  poverty  of  the  continent  was 
exhibited,  leaving  the  poverty  indifferent  and 
slightly  bored,  and  the  Ducal  party  taking 
notes. 

It  was  his  Grace's  determination  to  study  the 
folk-ways  of  Americans ;  and  what  the  Duke 
wished  the  Duchess  dutifully  desired.  The  Lady 
Alene  Innesly,  however,  was  dragged  most  re 
luctantly  from  function  to  function,  from  palace 
to  purlieu,  from  theatre  to  cathedral,  from  Coney 
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Island  to  Newport.  She  was  "havin'  a  rotten 
time." 

All  day  long  she  had  nothing  to  look  at  but 
an  overdressed  and  alien  race  whose  voices  dis 
tressed  her ;  day  after  day  she  had  nothing  to  say 
except,  "How  d'y  do,"  and  "Mother,  shall  we  have 
tea?"  Week  after  week  she  had  nothing  to  think 
of  except  the  bare,  unkempt  ugliness  of  the  cities 
she  saw;  the  raw  waste  and  sordid  uglification 
of  what  once  had  been  matchless  natural  re 
sources  ;  dirty  rivers,  ruined  woodlands,  flimsy 
buildings,  ignorant  architecture.  The  ostenta 
tious  and  wretched  hotels  depressed  her ;  the  poor 
railroads  and  bad  manners  disgusted  her. 

Listless,  uninterested,  Britishly  enduring  what 
she  could  not  escape,  the  little  Lady  Alene  had 
made  not  the  slightest  effort  to  mitigate  the  cir 
cumstances  of  her  temporary  fate.  She  was  civ 
illy  incurious  concerning  the  people  she  met ;  their 
social  customs,  amusements,  pastimes,  duties,  vari 
ous  species  of  business  or  of  leisure  interested  her 
not  a  whit.  All  the  men  looked  alike  to  her;  all 
the  women  were  over-gowned,  tiresomely  pretty, 
and  might  learn  one  day  how  to  behave  them 
selves  after  they  had  found  out  how  to  make  their 
voices  behave. 

Meanwhile,  requiring  summer  clothing — tweeds 
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and  shooting  boots  being  not  what  the  climate 
seemed  to  require  in  July — she  discovered  with 
languid  surprise  that  for  the  first  time  in  her 
limited  life  she  was  well  gowned.  A  few  moments 
afterward  another  surprise  faintly  thrilled  her, 
for,  chancing  to  glance  at  herself  after  a  Yankee 
hairdresser  had  finished  her  hair,  she  discovered 
to  her  astonishment  that  she  was  pretty. 

For  several  days  this  fact  preyed  upon  her 
mind,  alternately  troubling  and  fascinating  her. 
There  were  several  men  at  home  who  would  cer 
tainly  sit  up ;  Willowmere  among  others. 

As  for  considering  her  newly  discovered  beauty 
any  advantage  in  America,  the  idea  had  not  en 
tered  her  mind.  Why  should  it?  All  the  men 
looked  alike ;  all  wore  sleek  hair,  hats  on  the  backs 
of  their  heads,  clothing  that  fitted  like  a  coster's 
trousers.  She  had  absolutely  no  use  for  them, 
and  properly. 

However,  she  continued  to  cultivate  her  beauty 
and  to  adorn  it  with  Yankee  clothing  and  head 
gear  befitting;  which  filled  up  considerable  time 
during  the  day,  leaving  her  fewer  empty  hours 
to  fill  with  tea  and  three-volumed  novels  from 
the  British  Isles. 

Now,  it  had  never  occurred  to  the  Lady  Alene 
Innesly  to  read  anything  except  British  fact  and 
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fiction.  She  had  never  been  sufficiently  interested 
even  to  open  an  American  book.  Why  should 
she,  as  long  as  the  three  props  of  her  national 
literature  endured  intact — curates,  tea,  and 
thoroughbred  horses? 

But  there  came  a  time  during  the  ensuing 
winter  when  the  last  of  the  three-volumed  novels 
had  been  assimilated,  the  last  serious  tome  di 
gested  ;  and  there  stretched  out  before  her  a  book 
less  prospect  which  presently  began  to  dismay 
her  with  the  aridness  of  its  perspective. 

The  catastrophe  occurred  while  the  Ducal 
party  was  investigating  the  strange  folk-customs 
of  those  Americans  who  gathered  during  the 
winter  in  gigantic  Florida  hotels  and  lived  there, 
uncomfortably  lodged,  vilely  fed,  and  shamelessly 
robbed,  while  third-rate  orchestras  play  cabaret 
music  and  enervating  breezes  stir  the  cabbage- 
palmettos  till  they  rustle  like  bath-room  rubber 
plants. 

It  was  a  bad  place  and  a  bad  time  of  year  for 
a  young  and  British  girl  to  be  deprived  of  her 
native  and  soporific  fiction;  for  the  livelier  and 
Frenchier  of  British  novelists  were  self-denied 
her,  because  somebody  had  said  they  were  not 
unlike  Americans. 

Now  she  was,  in  the  uncouth  vernacular  of  the 
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country,  up  against  it  for  fair !  She  didn't  know 
what  it  was  called,  but  she  realised  how  it  felt 
to  be  against  something. 

Three  days  she  endured  it,  dozing  in  her  room, 
half  awake  when  the  sea-breeze  rattled  the  Vene 
tian  blinds,  or  the  niggers  were  noisy  at  baseball. 

On  the  fourth  day  she  arose,  went  to  the  win 
dow,  gazed  disgustedly  out  over  the  tawdry  vil 
las  of  Verbena  Inlet,  then  rang  for  her  maid. 

"Bunn,"  she  said,  "here  are  three  sovereigns. 
You  will  please  buy  for  me  one  specimen  of  every 
book  on  sale  in  the  corridor  of  this  hotel.  And, 
Bunn ! " 

"Yes,  my  lady." 

"What  was  it  you  were  eating  the  other  day?" 

"Chewing-gum,  my  lady." 

"Is  it — agreeable?" 

"Yes,  my  lady." 

"Is  it  nourishing?" 

"No,  my  lady.  It  is  not  intended  to  be  eaten; 
it  is  to  be  chewed." 

"Then  one  does  not  swallow  it  when  one  sup 
poses  it  to  be  sufficiently  masticated?" 

"No,  my  lady." 

"What  does  one  do  with  it?" 

"Beg  pardon,  my  lady — one  spits  it  out." 

"Ow,"  said  the  girl. 

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VIII 

SHE  was  lying  on  the  bed  when  a  relay  of 
servants  staggered  in  bearing  gaudy  piles 
of  the  most  recent  and  popular  novels,  and 
placed  them  in  tottering  profusion  upon  the  ad 
jacent  furniture. 

The  Lady  Alene  turned  her  head  where  it  lay 
lazily  pillowed  on  her  left  arm,  and  glanced  in 
differently  at  the  multi-coloured  battlement  of 
books.  The  majority  of  the  covers  were  embel 
lished  with  the  heads  of  young  women,  all  en 
dowed  with  vaudeville-like  beauty — it  having  been 
discovered  by  intelligent  publishers  that  a  girl's 
head  on  any  book  sells  it. 

On  some  covers  were  displayed  coloured  pic 
tures  of  handsome  and  athletic  American  young 
men,  usually  kissing  beautiful  young  ladies  who 
wore  crowns,  ermines,  and  foreign  orders  over  din 
ner  dresses.  Sometimes,  however,  they  were  kick 
ing  Kings.  That  seemed  rather  odd  to  the  Lady 
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Alene,  and  she  sat  up  on  the  bed  and  reached  out 
her  hand.  It  encountered  a  book  on  which  rested 
a  small,  oblong  package.  She  took  book  and 
package.  On  the  pink  wrapper  of  the  latter  she 
read  this  verse: 

Why  are  my  teeth  so  white  and  bright? 
Because  I  chew  with  all  my  might 
The  gum  that  fills  me  with  delight 
And  keeps  me  healthy  day  and  night. 
Five  cents. 

The  Lady  Alene's  unaccustomed  fingers  be 
came  occupied  with  the  pink  wrapper.  Presently 
she  withdrew  from  it  a  thin  and  brittle  object, 
examined  it,  and  gravely  placed  it  in  her  mouth. 

For  a  while  the  perplexed  and  apprehensive  ex 
pression  remained  upon  her  face,  but  it  faded 
gradually,  and  after  a  few  minutes  her  lovely  fea 
tures  settled  into  an  expression  resembling  con 
tentment.  And,  delicately,  discreetly,  at  leisurely 
intervals,  her  fresh,  sweet  lips  moved  as  though 
she  were  murmuring  a  prayer. 

All  that  afternoon  she  perused  the  first  Ameri 
can  novel  she  had  ever  read.  And  the  cumulative 
effect  of  the  fiction  upon  her  literal  mind  was 
amazing  as  she  turned  page  after  page,  and,  grad 
ually  gathering  mental  and  nervous  speed, 
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dashed  from  one  chapter,  bang!  into  another, 
only  to  be  occultly  adjured  to  "take  the  car 
ahead" — which  she  now  did  quite  naturally,  and 
on  the  run. 

Never,  never  had  she  imagined  such  things 
could  be !  Always  heretofore,  to  her,  fiction  had 
been  a  strict  reflection  of  actuality  in  which  a 
dull  imagination  was  licensed  to  walk  about  if  it 
kept  off  the  grass.  And  it  always  did  in  the  only 
novels  to  which  she  had  been  accustomed. 

But  good  heavens  !  Here  was  a  realism  at  work 
in  these  pages  so  astonishing  yet  so  convincing, 
so  subtle  yet  so  natural,  so  matter  of  fact  yet 
so  astoundingly  new  to  her  that  the  book  she  was 
reading  was  already  changing  the  entire  com 
plexion  of  the  Yankee  continent  for  her. 

It  had  to  do  with  a  young,  penniless,  and  ath 
letic  American  who  went  to  Europe,  tipped  a  king 
off  his  throne,  pushed  a  few  dukes,  counts,  and 
barons  out  of  the  way,  reorganized  the  army,  and 
went  home  taking  with  him  a  beautiful  and  exclu 
sive  princess  with  honest  intentions. 

The  inhabitants  of  several  villages  wept  at  his 
departure;  the  abashed  nobility  made  unsuccess 
ful  attempts  to  shoot  him;  otherwise  the  trip  to 
the  Cunard  Line  pier  was  uneventful,  and  diplo 
matic  circles  paid  no  attention  to  the  incident. 
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When  the  Lady  Alene  finished  the  story  her 
oval  face  ached;  but  this  was  no  time  to  consider 
aches.  So  with  a  charming  abandon  she  relieved 
her  pretty  teeth  of  the  morceau,  replaced  it  with 
another,  helped  herself  to  a  second  novel,  settled 
back  on  her  pillow,  and  opened  the  enchanted 
pages. 

And  zip !  Instantly  she  became  acquainted  with 
another  athletic  and  penniless  American  who  was 
raising  the  devil  in  the  Balkans. 

Never  in  her  life  had  she  dreamed  that  any  na 
tion  contained  such  fearless,  fascinating,  re 
sourceful,  epigrammatic,  and  desirable  young 
men !  And  here  she  was  in  the  very  midst  of 
them,  and  never  had  realised  it  until  now. 

Where  were  they?  All  around  her,  no  doubt. 
When,  a  few  days  later,  she  had  read  some  baker's 
dozen  novels,  and  in  each  one  of  them  had  dis 
covered  similar  athletic,  penniless,  and  omniscient 
American  young  men,  her  opinion  was  confirmed, 
and  she  could  no  longer  doubt  that,  like  the  fic 
tion  of  her  own  country,  the  romances  of  Ameri 
can  novelists  must  have  a  substantial  foundation 
in  solid  fact. 

There  could  be  no  use  in  quibbling.  The  situ 
ation  had  become  exciting.  Her  youthful  imagi 
nation  was  now  fired ;  her  Saxon  blood  thoroughly 
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stirred.  She  knew  perfectly  well  that  there  were 
in  her  own  country  no  young  men  like  these  she 
had  read  about — not  a  man- jack  among  them  who 
would  ever  dream  of  dashing  about  the  world  cuf 
fing  the  ears  of  reprehensible  monarchs,  meting 
out  condign  punishment  to  refractory  nobility, 
reconstructing  governments  and  states  and  ar 
mies,  and  escaping  with  a  princess  every  time. 

Not  that  she  actually  believed  that  such  epi 
sodes  were  of  common  occurrence.  Young  as  she 
was  she  knew  better.  But  somehow  it  seemed  very 
clear  to  her  that  a  race  of  writers  who  were  so 
unanimous  on  the  subject  and  a  nation  which  so 
complacently  read  of  these  events  without  deny 
ing  their  plausibility,  must  within  itself  harbour 
germs  and  seeds  of  romance  and  reckless  deeds 
which  no  doubt  had  produced  a  number  of  young 
men  thoroughly  capable  of  doing  a  few  of  the  ex 
citing  things  she  had  read  about. 

Now  she  regretted  she  had  not  noticed  the  men 
she  had  met;  now  she  was  indeed  sorry  she  had 
not  at  least  taken  pains  to  learn  to  distinguish 
them  one  from  the  other.  She  wished  that  she  had 
investigated  this  reckless,  chivalrous,  energetic, 
and  distinguishing  trait  of  the  American  young 
man. 

It  seemed  odd,  too,  that  Pa-pa  had  never  in- 
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vestigated  it;  that  Ma-ma  had  never  appeared  to 
notice  it. 

She  mentioned  it  at  dinner  carelessly,  in  the 
midst  of  a  natural  and  British  silence.  Neither 
parent  enlightened  her.  One  said,  "Fancy !" 
And  the  other  said,  "Ow." 

And  so,  as  both  parents  departed  the  following 
morning  to  investigate  the  tarpon  fishing  at  Mi 
ami,  the  little  Lady  Alene  made  private  prepara 
tions  to  investigate  and  closely  observe  the  aston 
ishing,  reckless,  and  romantic  tendencies  of  the 
American  young  man.  Her  tour  of  discovery  she 
scheduled  for  five  o'clock  that  afternoon. 

Just  how  these  investigations  were  to  be  ac 
complished  she  did  not  see  very  clearly.  She  had 
carefully  refrained  from  knowing  anybody  in  the 
hotel.  So  how  to  go  about  it  she  did  not  know ; 
but  she  knew  enough  after  luncheon  to  have  her 
hair  done  by  somebody  besides  her  maid,  selected 
the  most  American  gown  in  her  repertoire,  took  a 
sunshade  hitherto  disdained,  and  glanced  in  the 
mirror  at  a  picture  in  white,  with  gold  hair,  vio 
let  eyes,  and  a  skin  of  snow  and  roses. 

Further  she  did  not  know  how  to  equip  herself, 
except  by  going  out  doors  at  five  o'clock.  And 
at  five  o'clock  she  went. 

From  the  tennis  courts  young  men  and  girls 
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looked  at  her.  On  the  golf  links  youth  turned  to 
observe  her  slim  and  dainty  progress.  She  was 
stared  at  from  porch  and  veranda,  from  dock  and 
deck,  from  garden  and  walk  and  orange  grove 
and  hedge  of  scarlet  hibiscus. 

From  every  shop  window  in  the  village,  folk 
looked  out  at  her ;  from  automobile,  wheeled  chair, 
bicycle,  and  horse-drawn  vehicle  she  was  in 
spected.  But  she  knew  nobody ;  not  one  bright 
nod  greeted  her;  not  one  straw  hat  was  lifted; 
not  one  nigger  grinned.  She  knew  nobody.  And, 
alas !  everybody  knew  her.  A  cold  wave  seemed 
to  have  settled  over  Verbena  Inlet. 

Yet  her  father  was  not  unpopular,  nor  was 
her  mother  either ;  and  although  they  asked  too 
many  questions,  their  perfectly  impersonal  and 
scientific  mission  in  Verbena  Inlet  was  understood. 

But  the  Lady  Alene  Innesly  was  not  under 
stood,  although  her  indifference  was  noted  and 
her  exclusiveness  amusedly  resented.  However, 
nobody  interfered  with  her  or  her  seclusion.  The 
fact  that  she  desired  to  know  nobody  had  been 
very  quickly  accepted.  Youth  and  the  world  at 
Verbena  Inlet  went  on  without  her;  the  sun  con 
tinued  to  rise  and  set  as  usual ;  and  the  nigger 
waiters  played  baseball. 

She  stood  watching  them  now  for  a  few  minutes, 
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her  parasol  tilted  over  her  lovely  shoulders.  Tir 
ing  of  this,  she  sauntered  on,  having  not  the 
slightest  idea  where  she  was  going,  but  very 
calmly  she  made  up  her  mind  to  speak  to  the  first 
agreeable  looking  young  man  she  encountered,  as 
none  of  them  seemed  at  all  inclined  to  speak  to 
her. 

Under  her  arm  she  had  tucked  a  novel  written 
by  one  Smith.  She  had  read  it  half  through. 
The  story  concerned  a  young  and  athletic  and 
penniless  man  from  Michigan  and  a  Balkan 
Princess.  She  had  read  as  far  as  the  first  love 
scene.  The  young  man  from  Michigan  was  still 
kissing  the  Princess  when  she  left  off  reading. 
And  her  imagination  was  still  on  fire. 

She  had  wandered  down  to  the  lagoon  without 
finding  anybody  sufficiently  attractive  to  speak 
to.  The  water  was  blue  and  pretty  and  very  in 
viting.  So  she  hired  a  motor-boat,  seated  herself 
in  the  stern,  and  dabbled  her  fingers  in  the  water 
as  the  engineer  took  her  whizzing  across  the  la 
goon  and  out  into  the  azure  waste,  headed 
straight  for  the  distant  silvery  inlet. 


IX 


SHE  read,  gazed  at  the  gulls  and  wild  ducks, 
placed  a  bit  of  gum  between  her  rose-leaf 
lips,  read  a  little,  glanced  up  to  mark  the 
majestic  flight  of  eight  pelicans,  sighed  discreetly, 
savoured  the  gum,  deposited  it  in  a  cunning  cor 
ner  adjacent  to  her  left  and  snowy   cheek,   and 
spoke  to  the  boatman. 

"Did  you  ever  read  this  book?"  she  asked. 
"Me !    No,  ma'am." 

"It  is  very  interesting.     Do  you  read  much?" 
"No,  ma'am." 

"This  is  a  very  extraordinary  book,"  she  said. 
"I  strongly  advise  you  to  read  it." 
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The  boatman  glanced  ironically  at  the  scarlet 
bound  volume  which  bore  the  portrait  of  a  pretty 
girl  on  its  covers. 

"Is  it  that  book  by  John  Smith  they're  sellin' 
so  many  of  down  to  the  hotel?"  he  inquired 
slowly. 

"I  believe  it  was  written  by  one  Smith,"  she 
said,  turning  over  the  volume  to  look.  "Yes,  John 
Smith  is  the  author's  name.  No  doubt  he  is  very 
famous  in  America." 

"He  lives  down  here  in  winter." 

"Really!"  she  exclaimed  with  considerable  ani 
mation. 

"Oh,  yes.  I  take  him  shooting  and  fishing.  He 
has  a  shack  on  the  Inlet  Point." 

"Where?" 

"Over  there,  where  them  gulls  is  flying." 

The  girl  looked  earnestly  at  the  point.  All  she 
saw  were  snowy  dunes  and  wild  grasses  and  sea- 
birds  whirling. 

"He  writes  them  books  over  there,"  remarked 
the  boatman. 

"How  extremely  interesting !" 

"They  say  he  makes  a  world  o'  money  by  it. 
He's  rich  as  mud." 

"Really !" 

"Yaas'm.  I  often  seen  him  a  settin'  onto  a 
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camp  chair  out  beyond  them  dunes  a-writing 
pieces  like  billy-bedam.  Yes'm." 

"Do  you  think  he  is  there  now?"  she  asked  with 
a  slight  catch  in  her  breath. 

"Well,  we  kin  soon  find  out —  He  swung 

the  tiller ;  the  little  boat  rushed  in  a  seething 
circle  toward  the  point,  veered  westward,  then 
south. 

"Yaas'm,"  said  the  boatman  presently.  "Mr. 
Smith  he's  reclinin'  out  there  onto  his  stummick. 
I  guess  he's  just  a  thinkin'.  He  thinks  more'n 
five  million  niggers,  he  does.  Gor-a-mighty !  7 
never  see  such  a  man  for  thinkin'!  He  jest  lies 
onto  his  stummick  an'  studies  an'  ruminates  like 
billy-bedam.  Yaas'm.  Would  you  want  I  should 
land  you  so's  you  can  take  a  peek  at  him?" 

"Might  I?" 

"Sure,  Miss.  Go  up  over  them  dunes  and  take 
a  peek  at  him.  He  won't  mind.  Ten  to  nothin* 
he  won't  even  see  ye." 

There  was  a  little  dock  built  of  coquina.  A 
power  boat,  a  sloop,  several  row-boats,  and  a  ca 
noe  lay  there,  riding  the  little,  limpid,  azure- 
tinted  wavelets.  Under  their  keels  swam  gar-pike, 
their  fins  and  backs  also  shimmering  with  blue 
and  turquoise  green. 

Lady  Alene  rose;  her  boatman  aided  her,  and 
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she  sprang  lightly  to  the  coquina  dock  and  walked 
straight  over  the  low  dune  in  front  of  her. 

There  was  nothing  whatever  in  sight  except 
beach-grapes  and  scrubby  tufts  of  palmetto,  and 
flocks  of  grey,  long-legged,  long-billed  birds  run 
ning  to  avoid  her.  But  they  did  not  run  very 
fast  or  very  far,  and  she  saw  them  at  a  little  dis 
tance  loitering,  with  many  a  bright  and  appar 
ently  friendly  glance  at  her. 

There  was  another  dune  in  front.  She  mounted 
it.  Straight  ahead  of  her,  perhaps  half  a  mile 
distant,  stood  a  whitewashed  bungalow  under  a 
cluster  of  palms  and  palmettos. 

From  where  she  stood  she  could  see  a  cove — 
merely  a  tiny  crescent  of  sand  edged  by  a  thin 
blade  of  cobalt  water,  and  curtained  by  the  pal 
metto  forest.  And  on  this  little  crescent  beach, 
in  the  shade  of  the  palms,  a  young  man  lay  at  full 
length,  very  intent  upon  his  occupation,  which 
was,  apparently,  to  dig  holes  in  the  sand  with  a 
child's  toy  shovel. 

He  was  clad  in  white  flannels ;  beside  him  she 
noticed  a  red  tin  pail,  such  as  children  use  for 
gathering  shells.  Near  this  stood  two  camp- 
chairs,  one  of  which  was  piled  with  pads  of  yel 
low  paper  and  a  few  books.  She  thought  his 
legs  very  eloquent.  Sometimes  they  lay  in  pic- 
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turesque  repose,  crossed  behind  him ;  at  other  mo 
ments  they  waved  in  the  air  or  sprawled  widely, 
appearing  to  express  the  varying  emotions  which 
possessed  his  deep  absorption  in  the  occult  task 
under  his  nose. 

"Now,  what  in  the  world  can  he  be  doing?" 
thought  Lady  Alene  Innesly,  watching  him.  And 
she  remained  motionless  on  top  of  the  dune  for 
ten  minutes  to  find  out.  He  continued  to  sprawl 
and  dig  holes  in  the  sand. 

Learning  nothing,  and  her  interest  increasing 
inversely,  she  began  to  walk  toward  him.  It  was 
her  disposition  to  investigate  whatever  interested 
her.  Already  she  was  conscious  of  a  deep  interest 
in  his  legs. 

From  time  to  time  low  dunes  intervened  to  hide 
the  little  cove,  but  always  when  she  crossed  them, 
pushing  her  way  through  fragrant  thickets  of 
sweet  bay  and  sparkle-berry  shrub,  cove  and  oc 
cupant  came  into  view  again.  And  his  legs  con 
tinued  to  wave.  The  nearer  she  drew  the  less  she 
comprehended  the  nature  of  his  occupation,  and 
the  more  she  decided  to  find  out  what  he  could  be 
about,  lying  there  flat  on  his  stomach  and  digging 
and  patting  the  sand. 

Also  her  naturally  calm  and  British  heart  was 
beating  irregularly  and  fast,  because  she  realised 
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the  fact  that  she  was  approaching  the  vicinity  of 
one  of  those  American  young  men  who  did  things 
in  books  that  she  never  dreamed  could  be  done 
anywhere.  Nay — under  her  arm  was  a  novel 
written  by  this  very  man,  in  which  the  hero  was 
still  kissing  a  Balkan  Princess,  page  169.  And 
it  occurred  to  her  vaguely  that  her  own  good 
taste  and  modesty  ought  to  make  an  end  of  such 
a  situation ;  and  that  she  ought  to  finish  the  page 
quickly  and  turn  to  the  next  chapter  to  relieve 
the  pressure  on  the  Princess. 

Confused  a  trifle  by  a  haunting  sense  of  her  own 
responsibility,  by  the  actual  imminence  of  such 
an  author,  and  by  her  intense  curiosity  concern 
ing  what  he  was  now  doing,  she  walked  across  the 
dunes  down  through  little  valleys  all  golden  with 
the  flowers  of  a  flat,  spreading  vine.  The  blos 
soms  were  larger  and  lovelier  than  the  largest  gol 
den  portulacca,  but  she  scarcely  noticed  their 
beauty  as  she  resolutely  approached  the  cove, 
moving  forward  under  the  cool  shadow  of  the  bor 
der  forest. 

He  did  not  seem  to  be  aware  of  her  approach, 
even  when  she  came  up  and  stood  by  the  camp- 
chairs,  parasol  tilted,  looking  down  at  him  with 
grave,  lilac-blue  eyes. 

But  she  did  not  look  at  him  as  much  as  she 
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gazed  at  what  he  was  doing.  And  what  he  was 
doing  appeared  perfectly  clear  to  her  now. 

With  the  aid  of  his  toy  shovel,  his  little  red 
pail,  and  several  assorted  shells,  he  had  con 
structed  out  of  sand  a  walled  city.  Houses, 
streets,  squares,  market  place,  covered  ways,  cur 
tain,  keep,  tower,  turret,  crenelated  battlement, 
all  were  there.  A  drift-wood  drawbridge  bridged 
the  moat,  guarded  by  lead  soldiers  in  Boznovian 
uniform. 

And  lead  soldiers  were  everywhere  in  the  mini 
ature  city ;  the  keep  bristled  with  their  bayonets ; 
squads  of  them  marched  through  street  and 
square ;  they  sat  at  dinner  in  the  market  place ; 
their  cannon  winked  and  blinked  in  the  westering 
sun  on  every  battlement. 

And  after  a  little  while  she  discovered  two  lead 
figures  which  were  not  military ;  a  civilian  wearing 
a  bowler  hat;  a  feminine  figure  wearing  a  crown 
and  ermines.  The  one  stood  on  the  edge  of  the 
moat  outside  the  drawbridge:  the  other,  in  crown 
and  ermines,  was  apparently  observing  him  of  the 
bowler  hat  from  the  top  of  a  soldier-infested 
tower. 

It  was  plain  enough  to  her  now.  This  amazing 
young  man  was  working  out  in  concrete  detail 
some  incident  of  an  unwritten  novel.  And  the 
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magnificent  realism  of  it  fascinated  the  Lady 
Alene.  Genius  only  possesses  such  a  capacity  for 
detail. 

Without  even  arousing  young  Smith  from  his 
absorbed  preoccupation,  she  seated  herself  on  the 
unincumbered  camp-chair,  laid  her  book  on  her 
knees,  rested  both  elbows  on  it,  propped  her  chin 
on  both  clasped  hands,  and  watched  the  proceed 
ings. 

The  lead  figure  in  the  bowler  hat  seemed  to  be 
in  a  bad  way.  Several  dozen  Boznovian  soldiers 
were  aiming  an  assortment  of  firearms  at  him ; 
cavalry  were  coming  at  a  gallop,  too,  not  to  men 
tion  a  three-gun  battery  on  a  dead  run. 

The  problem  seemed  to  be  how,  in  the  face  of 
such  a  situation,  was  the  lead  gentleman  in  the 
bowler  hat  to  get  away,  much  less  penetrate  the 
city? 

Flight  seemed  hopeless,  but  presently  Smith 
picked  him  up,  marched  him  along  the  edge  of 
the  moat,  and  gave  him  a  shove  into  it. 

"He's  swimming,"  said  Smith,  aloud  to  him 
self.  "Bang!  Bang!  But  they  don't  hit  him 

Yes,  they  do ;  they  graze  his  shoulder.  It  is  the 
only  wound  possible  to  polite  fiction.  There  is 
consequently  a  streak  of  red  in  the  water.  Bang 
— bang — bang !  Crack — crack !  The  cavalry 
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empty  their  pistols.  Boom!  A  field  piece 
opens Where  the  devil  is  that  battery 

Smith  reached  over,  drew  horses,  cannoniers, 
gun  and  caisson  over  the  drawbridge,  galloped 
them  along  the  moat,  halted,  unlimbered,  trained 
the  guns  on  the  bowler  hatted  swimmer,  and  re 
marked,  "Boom!" 

"The  shell,"  he  murmured  with  satisfaction, 
"missed  him  and  blew  up  in  the  casemates.  Did 
it  kill  anybody  ?  No ;  that  interferes  with  the 
action.  .  .  .  He  dives,  swims  under  water  to  an 
ancient  drain."  Smith  stuck  a  peg  where  the  sup 
posed  drain  emptied  into  the  moat. 

"That  drain,"  continued  Smith  thoughtfully, 
"connects  with  the  royal  residence.  .  .  .  Where's 
that  Princess?  Can  she  see  him  dive  into  it?  Or 
does  she  merely  suspect  he  is  making  for  it?  Or 
— or — doesn't  she  know  anything  about  it?" 

"She  doesn't  know  anything  about  it !"  ex 
claimed  Lady  Alene  Innesly.  The  tint  of  excite 
ment  glowed  in  her  cheeks.  Her  lilac- tinted  eyes 
burned  with  a  soft,  blue  fire. 


SLOWLY  as  a  partly  paralysed  crab,  Smith 
raised   himself   to    a    sitting   posture    and 
looked  over  his  shoulder  into  the  loveliest 
face  that  he  had  ever  beheld,  except  on  the  paper 
wrappers  of  his  own  books. 

"I'm  sorry,"  said  the  Lady  Alene.  "Shouldn't 
I  have  spoken?" 

The  smoke  and  turmoil  of  battle  still  confused 
Smith's  brain ;  visualisation  of  wall  and  tower  and 
crowns  and  ermines  made  the  Lady  Alene's  fresh, 
wholesome  beauty  very  unreal  to  him  for  a  mo 
ment  or  two. 

When  his  eyes  found  their  focus  and  his  mind 
returned  to  actuality,  he  climbed  to  his  feet,  hat 
in  hand,  and  made  his  manners  to  her.  Then, 
tumbling  books  and  pads  from  the  other  camp- 
chair,  he  reseated  himself  with  a  half  smiling,  half 
shamed  glance  at  her,  and  a  "May  I?"  to  which 
she  responded,  "Please !  And  might  I  talk  to  you 
for  a  few  moments?" 

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Smith  shot  a  keen  glance  at  the  book  on  her 
knees.  Resignation  and  pride  altered  his  fea 
tures,  but  when  again  he  looked  at  the  Lady 
Alene  he  experienced  a  pleasure  in  his  resigna 
tion  which  hitherto  no  curious  tourist,  no  enter 
prising  reporter  had  ever  aroused.  Smilingly  he 
composed  himself  for  the  impending  interview. 

"Until  now,"  said  the  girl  earnestly,  "I  think  I 
have  not  been  entirely  convinced  by  your  novels. 
Somehow  or  other  I  could  not  bring  myself  to 
comprehend  the  amazing  realism  of  your  plots. 
But  now  I  understand  the  basis  of  great  and  fun 
damental  truth  on  which  you  build  so  plausibly 
your  splendid  novels  of  love  and  life." 

"What?"  said  Smith. 

"To  see  you,"  she  continued,  "constructing  the 
scenes  of  which  later  you  are  to  write,  has  been 
a  wonderful  revelation  to  me.  It  has  been  a  privi 
lege  the  importance  of  which  I  can  scarcely  esti 
mate.  Your  devotion  to  the  details  of  your  art, 
your  endless  patience,  your  almost  austere  ab 
sorption  in  truth  and  realism,  have  not  only  as 
tounded  me  but  have  entirely  convinced  me.  The 
greatest  thing  in  the  world  is  Truth.  Now  I  re 
alise  it!" 

She  made  a  pretty  gesture  of  enthusiasm: 

"What  a  wonderful  nation  of  young  men  is 
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yours,  Mr.  Smith !  What  qualities  !  What  fear 
lessness — initiative — idealism  —  daring — !  What 
invention,  what  recklessness,  what  romance — 

Her  voice  failed  her ;  she  sat  with  lips  parted,  a 
soft  glow  in  her  cheeks,  gazing  upon  Smith  with 
fascinated  eyes.  And  Smith  gazed  back  at  her 
without  a  word. 

"I  don't  believe,"  she  said,  "that  in  all  Eng 
land  there  exists  a  single  man  capable  even  of 
conceiving  the  career  for  which  so  many  young 
Americans  seem  to  be  equipped." 

After  a  moment  Smith  said  very  quietly: 

"I  am  sorry,  but  do  you  know  I  don't  quite  un 
derstand  you?" 

"I  mean,"  she  said,  "that  you  Americans  have 
a  capacity  for  conceiving,  understanding,  and 
performing  everything  you  write  about." 

"Why  do  you  think  so?"  asked  Smith,  a  trifle 
red. 

"Because  if  Englishmen  could  understand  and 
do  such  things,  our  novelists  would  write  about 
them.  They  never  write  about  them.  But  you 
Americans  do.  You  write  thousands  of  most  de 
lightful  novels  about  young  men  who  do  things 
unheard  of,  undreamed  of,  in  England.  There 
fore,  it  is  very  clear  to  me  that  you  Americans 
are  quite  capable  of  doing  what  you  write 
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about,   and   what   your    readers   so   ardently   ad 
mire." 

"I  see,"  said  Smith  calmly.  His  ear-tips  still 
burned. 

"No  doubt,"  said  the  girl,  "many  of  the  as 
tonishing  things  you  Americans  write  about  are 
really  done.  Many  astounding  episodes  in  fiction 
are  of  not  uncommon  occurrence  in  real  life." 

"What  kind  of  episodes?"  asked  Smith  gravely. 

"Why,  any  of  them  you  write  about.  They 
all  are  astonishing  enough.  For  example,  your 
young  men  do  not  seem  to  know  what  fear 
is." 

"No,"    said    Smith,    "they    don't." 

"And  when  they  love,"  said  the  girl,  "nothing 
can  stop  them." 

"Nothing." 

"Nothing!"  she  repeated,  the  soft  glow  coming 
into  her  cheeks  again.  " — Nothing!  Neither 
rank  nor  wealth  nor  political  considerations  nor 
family  prejudices,  nor  even  the  military!" 

Smith  bit  his  lip  in  silence.  He  had  heard  of 
irony ;  never  had  he  dreamed  it  could  be  so  crush 
ing:  he  had  heard  of  sarcasm;  but  the  quiet  sar 
casm  of  this  unknown  young  girl  was  annihilating 
him.  Critics  had  carved  him  in  his  time;  but  the 
fine  mincemeat  which  this  pretty  stranger  was 
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making  of  him  promised  to  leave  nothing  more 
either  to  carve  or  to  roast. 

"Do  you  mind  my  talking  to  you?"  she  asked, 
noting  the  strained  expression  of  his  features. 

"No,"  he  said,  "go  ahead." 

"Because  if  I  am  tiring  you " 

He  said  he  was  not  tired. 

" — or  if  it  bores  you  to  discuss  your  art  with  a 
foreigner  who  so  truly  admires  it 

He  shot  a  glance  at  her,  then  forced  a  laugh. 

"I  am  not  offended,"  he  said.     "What  paper 
do  you  represent?" 

"I?"  she  said,  bewildered. 

"Yes.     You  are  a  newspaper  woman,  are  you 
not?" 

"Do  you  mean  a  reporter?" 

"Naturally." 

"No,"  she  said  very  seriously,  "I  am  not  a  re 
porter.     What  an  odd  idea!" 

"Do  you  think  it  odd?" 

"Why,   yes.     Do  not  many  admirers   of  your 
works  express  their  pleasure  in  them  to  you?" 

He  studied  her  lovely  face  coolly  and  in  detail 
— the  dainty  arch  of  the  questioning  eyebrows, 
the  sensitive  curve  of  the  mouth,  the  clear,  sweet 
eyes.  Could  it  be  possible  that  such  candour 
masked  irony?  Could  all  this  be  the  very  essence 

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of  the  art  of  acting,  concealing  the  most  murder 
ous  sarcasm  ever  dreamed  of  by  a  terrified 
author? 

And  suddenly  his  face  went  red  all  over,  and 
he  understood  that  the  essence  of  this  young  girl 
was  a  candour  so  utterly  free  of  self-conscious 
ness- — a  frankness  so  absolutely  truthful,  that  the 
simplicity  of  her  had  been  a  miracle  too  exquisite 
for  him  to  comprehend. 

"You  do  like  what  I  write !"  he  exclaimed. 

Her  blue  eyes  widened:  "Of  course  I  do," 
she  said,  amazed.  "Didn't  you  understand 
me?" 

"No,"  he  said,  cooling  his  burning  face  in  the 
rising  sea-wind.  "I  thought  you  were  laughing  at 
me." 

"I'm  sorry  if  I  was  stupid,"  she  said. 

"7  was  stupid." 

"You!"     She  laughed  a  little. 

The  sinking  sun  peered  through  the  palm  for 
est  behind  them  and  flung  a  beam  of  blinding 
light  at  her. 

"Am  I  interrupting  your  work,  Mr.  Smith?  I 
mean,  I  know  I  am,  but " 

"Please  don't  go  away." 

"Thank  you.  ...  I  have  noticed  what  agree 
able  manners  you  Americans  have  in  novels. 
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Naturally  you  are  even  more  kindly  and  polite  in 
real  life." 

"Have  you  met  many  Americans?" 

"No,  only  you.  In  the  beginning  I  did  not  feel 
interested  in  Americans." 

"Why?" 

"The  young  men  all  seemed  to  resemble  one 
another,"  she  said  frankly,  "like  Chinese.  But 
now  that  I  really  know  an  American  I  am  in 
tensely  interested." 

"You  notice  no  Mongolian  monotony  in  me?" 
he  inquired  gravely. 

"Oh,  no — —  She  coloured ;  then  discovering 
that  he  was  laughing,  she  laughed,  too,  rather 
faintly. 

"That  was  a  joke,  wasn't  it?"  she  said. 

"Yes,  that  was  a  joke." 

"Because,"  she  said,  "there  is  no  Mongolian 
uniformity  about  you.  On  the  contrary,  you 
remind  me  in  every  way  of  one  of  your  own 
heroes." 

"Oh,  really  now !"  he  protested ;  but  she  insisted 
with  serious  enthusiasm. 

"You  are  the  counterpart  of  the  hero  in  this 

book,"  she  repeated,  resting  one  hand  lightly  on 

the  volume  under  her  elbow.     "You  wear  white 

flannels,  you  are  tall,  well  built,  straight,  with 

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very  regular  features  and  a  fasci a  smile,'* 

she  corrected  herself  calmly,  "which  one  naturally 
associates  with  your  features." 

"Also,"  she  continued,  "your  voice  is  cultivated 
and  modulated  with  just  enough  of  the  American 
accent  to  make  it  piquantly  agreeable.  And 
what  you  say  is  fasci is  well  expressed  and  in 
teresting.  Therefore,  as  I  have  said,  to  me  you 
resemble  one  of  your  own  heroes." 

There  was  enough  hot  colour  in  his  face  to  make 
it  boyishly  bashful. 

"And  you  appear  to  be  as  modest  as  one  of 
your  own  heroes,"  she  added,  studying  him. 
"That  is  truly  delightful." 

"But  really,  I  am  nothing  like  any  of  my 
heroes,"  he  explained,  terribly  embarrassed. 

"Why  do  you  say  that,  Mr.  Smith?" 

"Because  it's  true.  I  don't  even  resemble  'em 
superficially." 

She  made  a  quick,  graceful  gesture:  "Why  do 
you  say  that,  when  here  you  are  before  me,  the 
exact  and  exciting  counterpart  of  the  reckless 

and  fasci the  reckless  and  interesting  men  you 

write  about?" 

He  said  nothing.  She  closed  the  parasol  and 
considered  him  in  silence  for  a  moment  or  two. 
Then: 

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"And  I  have  no  doubt  that  you  are  capable  of 
doing  the  very  things  that  your  heroes  do  so 
adroitly  and  so  charmingly." 

"What,  for  example?"  he  asked,  reddening  to 
his  temples. 

"Reconstructing  armies,  for  instance." 

"Filibustering?" 

"Is  that  what  it  is  called?" 

"It's  called  that  in  the  countries  south  of  the 
United  States." 

"Well,  would  you  not  be  capable  of  overturn 
ing  a  government  and  of  reconstructing  the  army, 
Mr.  Smith?" 

"Capable?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,"  he  said  cautiously,  "if  it  was  the  thing 
I  wanted  to  do,  perhaps  I  might  have  a  try  at 
it." 

"I  knew  it,"  she  exclaimed  triumphantly. 

"But,"  he  explained,  "I  never  desired  to  over 
turn  any  government." 

"You  probably  have  never  seen  any  that  you 
thought  worth  while  overturning." 

Her  confident  rejoinder  perplexed  him  and  he 
remained  silent. 

"Also,"  she  continued,  still  more  confidently,  "I 
am  certain  that  if  you  were  in  love,  no  obstacles 
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would    prove    too    great    for    you    to    surmount. 
Would  they?" 

"Really,"  he  said,  "I  don't  know.  I'm  not 
very  enterprising." 

"That  is  the  answer  of  a  delightfully  modest 
man.  Your  own  hero  would  return  me  such  an 
answer,  Mr.  Smith.  But  I — and  your  heroine 
also — understand  you — I  mean  your  hero." 

"Do  you?"  he  asked  gravely. 

"Certainly.  I,  as  well  as  your  heroine,  under 
stand  that  no  obstacles  could  check  you  if  you 
loved  her — neither  political  considerations,  diplo 
matic  exigencies,  family  prejudices,  nor  her  own 
rank,  no  matter  what  it  might  be.  Is  not  that 
true?" 

Eager,  enthusiastic,  impersonally  but  warmly 
interested,  she  leaned  a  little  toward  him,  intent 
on  his  reply. 

He  looked  into  the  lovely,  flushed  face  in  silence 
for  a  while.  Then : 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "it  is  true.  If  I  loved,  nothing 
could  check  me  except —  "  he  shrugged. 

"Death?"     She  nodded,  fascinated. 

He  nodded.     He  had  meant  to  say  the  police. 

She   said  exultantly :    "I  knew  it,  Mr.   Smith ! 
I  was  certain  that  you  are  the  living  embodiment 
of  your  own  heroes !     The  moment  I  set  eyes  on 
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you  playing  in  the  sand  with  your  lead  soldiers,  I 
was  sure  of  it !" 

Thrilled,  she  considered  him,  her  soft  eyes  bril 
liant  with  undisguised  admiration. 

"I  wish  I  could  actually  see  it !"  she  said  under 
her  breath. 

"See  what?" 

"See  you,  in  real  life,  as  one  of  your  own  heroes 
— doing  some  of  the  things  they  do  so  cleverly,  so 
winningly — careless  of  convention,  reckless  of 
consequences,  oblivious  to  all  considerations  ex 
cept  only  the  affair  in  hand.  That,"  she  said 
excitedly,  "would  be  glorious,  and  well  worth  a 
trip  to  the  States !" 

"How  far,"  he  asked,  "have  you  read  in  that 
book  of  mine?" 

"In  this  book?"  She  opened  it,  impulsively, 
ran  over  the  pages,  hesitated,  stopped. 

"He  was — was  kissing  the  Balkan  Princess," 
she  said.  "I  left  them — in  statu  quo." 

"I  see.  .  .  .    Did  he  do  that  well?" 

"I — suppose  so." 

"Have  you  no  opinion?" 

"I  think  he  did  it — very — thoroughly,  Mr. 
Smith." 

"It  ought   to  be  done  thoroughly  if  done  at 
all,"  he  said  reflectively. 
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"Otherwise,"  she  nodded,  "it  would  be  offen 
sive." 

"To  the  reader?" 

"To  her,  too.     Wouldn't  it?" 

"You  know  better  than  I." 

"No,  I  don't  know.  A  nice  girl  can  not  im 
agine  herself  being  kissed — except  under  very  ex 
traordinary  circumstances,  and  by  a  very  ex 
traordinary  man.  .  .  .  Such  a  man  as  you  have 
drawn  in  this  book." 

"Had  you  been  that  Balkan  Princess,  what 
would  you  have  done?"  he  asked,  rather  pale. 

"I?"  she  said,  startled. 

"Yes,  you." 

She  sat  considering,  blue  eyes  lost  in  candid 
reverie.  Then  the  faintest  smile  curved  her 
lips ;  she  looked  up  at  Smith  with  winning  sim 
plicity. 

"In  your  story,  Mr.  Smith,  does  the  Balkan 
Princess  return  his  kiss?" 

"Not  in  that  chapter." 

"I  think  I  would  have  returned  it — in  that 
— chapter."  Then,  for  the  first  time,  she  blushed. 

The  naive  avowal  set  the  heart  and  intellect  of 
Mr.  Smith  afire.  But  he  only  dropped  his  well- 
shaped  head  and  didn't  look  at  her.  Which  was 
rather  nice  of  him. 

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"Romance,"  he  said  after  a  moment  or  two,  "is 
all  well  enough.  But  real  life  is  stranger  than 
fiction." 

"Not  in  the  British  Isles,"  she  said  with  de 
cision.  "It  is  tea  and  curates  and  kennels  and 
stables — as  our  writers  depict  it." 

"No,  you  are  mistaken!  Everywhere  it  is 
stranger  than  fiction,"  he  insisted — "more  sur 
prising,  more  charming,  more  wonderful.  Even 
here  in  America — here  in  Florida — here  on  this 
tiny  point  of  sand  jutting  into  the  Atlantic,  life 
is  more  beautiful,  more  miraculous  than  any  fic 
tion  ever  written." 

"Why  do  you  say  that?"  she  asked. 

"I  am  afraid  I  can't  tell  you  why  I  say 
it." 

"Why  can't  you  tell  me?" 

"Only  in  books  could  what  I  might  have  to  tell 
you  be  logically  told — and  listened  to 

"Only  in  books?  But  books  in  America  reflect 
actual  life,"  she  said.  "Therefore,  you  can  tell 
me  what  you  have  to  tell.  Can't  you?" 

"Can  I?"  he  asked. 

"Yes.  .  .  ."  Far  in  the  inmost  recesses  of 
her  calm  and  maiden  heart  something  stirred,  and 
her  breath  ceased  for  a  second.  .  .  .  Innocent, 
not  comprehending  why  her  breath  missed,  she 


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looked  at  him  with  the  question  still  in  her  blue 
eyes. 

"Shall  I  tell  you  why  real  life  is  stranger  than 
fiction?"  he  asked  unsteadily. 

"Tell  me— yes— if " 

"It  is  stranger,"  he  said,  "because  it  is  often 
more  headlong  and  romantic.  Shall  we  take  our 
selves,  for  example?" 

"You  and  me?" 

"Yes.     To  illustrate  what  I  mean." 

She  inclined  her  head,  her  eyes  fixed  on 
his. 

"Very  well,"  he  said.  "Even  in  the  most  skill 
fully  constructed  story — supposing  that  you  and 
I  were  hero  and  heroine — no  author  would  have 
the  impudence  to  make  us  avow  our  love  within  a 
few  minutes  of  our  first  meeting." 

"No,"  she  said. 

"In  the  first  chapter,"  he  continued,  "certain 
known  methods  of  construction  are  usually  fol 
lowed.  Time  is  essential — the  lapse  of  time.  How 
to  handle  it  cleverly  is  a  novelist's  business.  But 
even  the  most  skillful  novelist  would  scarcely  dare 
make  me,  for  example,  tell  you  that  I  am  in  love 
with  you.  Would  he?" 

"No,"  she  said. 

"And  in  real  life,  even  if  a  man  does  fall  in 
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love  so  suddenly,  he  does  not  usually  say  so,  does 
he?"  he  asked. 

"No,"  she  said. 

"But  he  does  fall  in  love  sometimes  more  sud 
denly  than  in  fiction.  And  occasionally  he  de 
clares  himself.  In  real  life  this  actually  hap 
pens.  And  that  is  stranger  than  any  fiction. 
Isn't  it?" 

"Yes,"  she  said. 

"One  kind  of  fiction,"  he  continued  very  un 
steadily,  "is  that  in  which,  when  he  falls  in  love — 
he  doesn't  say  so — I  mean  in  such  a  case  as  ours 
— supposing  I  had  already  fallen  in  love  with 
you.  I  could  not  say  so  to  you.  No  man  could 
say  it  to  any  girl.  He  remains  mute.  He  ob 
serves  very  formally  every  convention.  He  smiles, 
hat  in  hand,  as  the  girl  passes  out  of  his  life  for 
ever.  .  .  .  Doesn't  he?  And  that  is  one  kind  of 
fiction — the  tragic  kind." 

She  had  been  looking  down  at  the  book  in  her 
lap.  After  a  moment  she  lifted  her  troubled  eyes 
to  his. 

"I  do — not  know  what  men  do — in  real  life," 
she  said.  "What  would  they  do  in  the — other 
kind  of  fiction?" 

"In  the  other  kind  of  fiction  there  would  be 
another  chapter." 

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"Yes.  .  .  .  You  mean  that  for  us  there  is 
only  this  one  chapter." 

"Only  one  chapter." 

"Or — might  it  not  be  called  a  short  story,  Mr. 
Smith?" 

"Yes — one  kind  of  short  story." 

"Which  kind?" 

"The  kind  that  ends  unhappily." 

"But  this  one  is  not  going  to  end  unhappily, 
is  it?" 

"You  are  about  to  walk  out  of  the  story  when 
it  ends." 

"Yes— but "     She  bit  her  lip,  flushed  and 

perplexed,  already  dreadfully  confused  between 
the  personal  and  the  impersonal — between  fact 
and  fancy. 

"You  see,"  he  said,  "the  short  story  which 
deals  with — love — can  end  only  as  ours  is  going 
to  end — or  the  contrary." 

"How  is  ours  going  to  end?"  she  asked  with 
candid  curiosity. 

"It  must  be  constructed  very  carefully,"  he 
said,  "because  this  is  realism." 

"You  must  be  very  skillful,  too,"  she  said. 
"I  do  not  see  how  you  are  to  avoid " 

"What?" 

"A — an — unhappy — ending." 
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He  looked  gravely  at  his  sand  castle.  "No," 
he  said,  "I  don't  see  how  it  can  be  avoided." 

After  a  long  silence  she  murmured,  half  to  her 
self: 

"Still,  this  is  America — after  all." 

He  shrugged,  still  studying  his  sand  castle. 

"I  wish  I  had  somebody  to  help  me  work  it 
out,"  he  said,  half  to  himself. 

"A  collaborator?" 

"Yes." 

"I'm  so  sorry  that  I  could  not  be  useful." 

"Would  you  try?" 

"What  is  the  use?  I  am  utterly  unskilled  and 
inexperienced." 

"I'd  be  very  glad  to  have  you  try,"  he  repeated. 


XI 


AFTER  a  moment  she  rose,  went  over  and 
knelt  down  in  the  sand  before  the  mini 
ature  city,   studying  the   situation.     All 
she  could  see  of  the  lead  hero  in  the  bowler  hat 
were  his  legs  protruding  from  the  drain. 

"Is  this  battery  of  artillery  still  shelling  him?" 
she  inquired,  looking  over  her  shoulder  at  Smith. 
He  went  over  and  dropped  on  his  knees  beside 
her. 

"You  see,"  he  explained,  "our  hero  is  still  under 
water." 

"All  this  time !"  she  exclaimed  in  consternation. 
"He'll  drown,  won't  he?" 
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"He'll  drown  unless  he  can  crawl  into  that 
drain." 

"Then  he  must  crawl  into  it  immediately,"  she 
said  with  decision. 

So  he  of  the  bowler  was  marched  along  a  series 
of  pegs  indicating  the  subterranean  drain,  and 
set  down  in  the  court  of  the  castle. 

"  Good  heavens !"  exclaimed  the  Lady  Alene. 
"We  can't  leave  him  here!  They  will  know  him 
by  his  bowler  hat !" 

"No,"  said  Smith  gloomily,  "we  can't  leave  him 
here.  But  what  can  we  do?  If  he  runs  out 
they'll  fire  at  him  by  platoons." 

"Couldn't  they  miss  him?"  pleaded  the  girl. 

"I'm  afraid  not.  He  has  already  lived  through 
several  showers  of  bullets." 

"But  he  can't  die  here! — here  under  the  very 
eyes  of  the  Princess!"  she  insisted. 

"Then,"  said  Smith,  "the  Princess  will  have  to 
pull  him  through.  It's  up  to  her  now." 

The  girl  knelt  there  in  excited  silence,  studying 
the  problem  intently. 

It  was  bad  business.  The  battlements  bristled 
with  bayonets ;  outside,  cavalry,  infantry,  artil 
lery  were  massed  to  destroy  the  gentleman  in  the 
bowler  hat. 

Presently  the  flush  deepened  on  the  girl's 
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cheeks ;  she  took  the  bowler  hat  between  her  gloved 
fingers  and  set  its  owner  in  the  middle  of  the 
moat  again. 

"Doesn't  he  crawl  into  the  drain?"  asked  Smith 
anxiously. 

"No.  But  the  soldiers  in  the  castle  think  he 
does.  So,"  she  continued  with  animation,  "the 
brutal  commander  rushes  downstairs,  seizes  a 
candle,  and  enters  the  drain  from  the  castle  court 
with  about  a  thousand  soldiers !" 

"But " 

"With  about  ten  thousand  soldiers !"  she  re 
peated  firmly.  "And  no  sooner — no  sooner — does 
their  brutal  and  cowardly  commander  enter  that 
drain  with  his  lighted  candle  than  the  Princess 
runs  downstairs,  seizes  a  hatchet,  severs  the  gas 
main  with  a  single  blow,  and  pokes  the  end  of  the 
pipe  into  the  drain !" 

"B-but "  stammered  Smith,  "I  think " 

"Oh,  please  wait !  You  don't  understand  what 
is  coming." 

"What  is  coming?"  ventured  Smith  timidly,  in 
stinctively  closing  both  ears  with  his  fingers. 

"Bang!"  said  Lady  Alene  triumphantly.  And 
struck  the  city  of  sand  with  her  small,  gloved 
hand. 

After  a  silence,  still  kneeling  there,  they  turned 
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and  looked  at  each  other  through  the  red  sunset 
light. 

"The  explosion  of  gas  killed  them  both,"  said 
Smith,  in  an  awed  voice. 

"No." 

"What?" 

"No.  The  explosion  killed  everybody  in  the 
city  except  those  two  young  lovers,"  she  said. 

"But  why?" 

"Because !" 

"By  what  logic " 

"I  desire  it  to  be  so,  Mr.  Smith."  And  she 
picked  up  the  bowler  hat  and  the  Princess  and 
calmly  set  them  side  by  side  amid  the  ruins. 

After  a  moment  Smith  reached  over  and  turned 
the  two  lead  figures  so  that  they  faced  each  other. 

There  was  a  long  silence.  The  red  sunset  light 
faded  from  the  sand. 

Then,  very  slowly,  the  girl  reached  out,  took 
the  bowler  hat  between  her  small  thumb  and  fore 
finger,  and  gently  inclined  the  gentleman  forward 
at  the  slightest  of  perceptible  angles. 

After  a  moment  Smith  inclined  him  still  far 
ther  forward.  Then,  with  infinite  precaution,  he 
tipped  forward  the  Princess,  so  that  between  her 
lips  and  the  lips  of  the  bowler  hat  only  the  width 
of  a  grass  blade  remained. 
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The  Lady  Alene  looked  up  at  him  over  her  left 
shoulder,  hesitated,  looked  at  bowler  hat  and  at 
the  Princess.  Then,  supporting  her  weight  on  one 
hand,  with  the  other  she  merely  touched  the  Prin 
cess — delicately — so  that  not  even  a  blade  of 
grass  could  have  been  slipped  between  their 
painted  lips. 

She  was  a  trifle  pale  as  she  sank  back  on  her 
knees  in  the  sand.  Smith  was  paler. 

After  both  her  gloved  hands  had  rested  across 
his  palm  for  five  full  minutes,  his  fingers  closed 
over  them,  tightly,  and  he  leaned  forward  a  little. 
She,  too,  swayed  forward  a  trifle.  Her  eyes  were 
closed  when  he  kissed  her. 

Now,  whatever  misgivings  and  afterthoughts 
the  Lady  Alene  Innesly  may  have  had,  she  was 
nevertheless  certain  that  to  resist  Smith  was  to 
fight  against  the  stars  in  their  courses.  For  not 
only  was  she  in  the  toils  of  an  American,  but  more 
hopeless  still,  an  American  who  chronicled  the 
most  daring  and  headlong  idiosyncrasies  of  the 
sort  of  young  men  of  whom  he  was  very  certainly 
an  irresistible  example. 

To    her    there    was    something    Shakespearean 

about  the  relentless  sequence  of  events  since  the 

moment  when  she  had  first  succumbed  to  the  small, 

oblong  pink  package,  and  her  first  American  novel. 

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And,  thinking  Shakespeareanly  as  she  stood  in 
the  purple  evening  light,  with  his  arm  clasping 
her  waist,  she  looked  up  at  him  from  her  charm 
ing  abstraction: 

"  'If  'twere  done,'  "  she  murmured,  "  'when  'tis 
done,   then   'twere   well   it   were    done   quickly.'  ' 
And  then,  gazing  deep  into  his  eyes,  a  noble  idiom 
of  her  adopted  country  fell  from  her  lips : 

"Dearest,"  she  said,  "my  father  won't  do  a 
thing  to  you." 

And  so  she  ran  away  with  him  to  Miami  where 
the  authorities,  civil  and  religious,  are  accustomed 
to  quick  action. 

It  was  only  fifty  miles  by  train,  and  preliminary 
telephoning  did  the  rest. 

The  big  chartered  launch  that  left  for  Verbena 
Inlet  next  morning  poked  its  nose  out  of  the  rain 
bow  mist  into  the  full  glory  of  the  rising  sun. 
Her  golden  head  lay  on  his  shoulder. 

Sideways,  with  delicious  indolence,  she  glanced 
at  a  small  boat  which  they  were  passing  close 
aboard.  A  fat  gentleman,  a  fat  lady,  and  a  boat 
man  occupied  the  boat.  The  fat  gentleman  was 
fast  to  a  tarpon. 

Up  out  of  the  dazzling  Atlantic  shot  three  hun 
dred  pounds  of  quivering  silver.  Splash ! 

"Why,  Dad !"  exclaimed  the  girl. 
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Her  father  and  mother  looked  over  their  shoul 
ders  at  her  in  wooden  amazement. 

"We  are  married —  "  called  out  their  pretty 
daughter  across  the  sunlit  water.  "I  will  tell  you 
all  about  it  when  you  land  your  fish.  Look  sharp, 
Dad !  Mind  your  reel !" 

"Who  is  that  damned  rascal?"  demanded  the 
Duke. 

"My  husband,  Dad!  Don't  let  him  get  away! 
— the  fish,  I  mean.  Put  the  drag  on !  Check !" 

Said  his  Grace  of  Pillchester  in  a  voice  of  mel 
low  thunder: 

"If  I  were  not  fast  to  my  first  tarpon ' 

"Reel  in!"  cried  Smith  sharply,  "reel  or  you 
lose  him!" 

The  Duke  reeled  with  all  the  abandon  of  a 
squirrel  in  a  wheel. 

"Dearest,"  said  Mrs.  John  Smith  to  her  pet 
rified  mother,  "we  will  see  you  soon  at  Verbena. 
And  don't  let  Dad  over-play  that  fish.  He  al 
ways  over-plays  a  salmon,  you  know." 

The  Duchess  folded  her  fat  hands  and  watched 
her  departing  offspring  until  the  chartered 
launch  was  a  speck  on  the  horizon.  Then  she 
looked  at  her  husband. 

"Fancy!"  she  said. 


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"Nevertheless,"  remarked  the  youthful  novelist, 
coldly,  "there  is  nothing  on  earth  as  ignoble  as  a 
best-seller." 

"I  wonder,"  ventured  Duane,  "whether  you 
know  which  books  actually  do  sell  the  best." 

"Or  which  books  of  bygone  days  were  the  best 
sellers?" 

"Some  among  them  are  still  best-sellers,"  added 
Athalie. 

"A  truly  important  book —  -"  began  the  nov 
elist,  but  Athalie  interrupted  him: 

"O  solemn  child,"  she  said,  "write  on! — and 
thank  the  gods  for  their  important  gifts  to  you 
of  hand  and  mind!  So  that  you  keep  tired  eyes 
awake  that  otherwise  would  droop  to  brood  on 
pain  or  sorrow  you  have  done  well ;  and  what  you 
have  written  to  this  end  will  come  nearer  being 
important  than  anything  you  ever  write." 

"True,  by  the  nine  muses !"  exclaimed  Staf 
ford  with  emphasis.  Athalie  glanced  at  him  out 
of  sweetly  humourous  eyes. 

"There  is  a  tenth  muse,"  she  said.  "Did  you 
never  hear  of  her?" 

"Never !    Where  did  you  discover  her,  Athalie  ?" 

"Where  I  discover  many,  many  things,  my 
friend." 

"In  your  crystal?"  I  said.  She  nodded  slowly 
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while  the  sweetmeat  was  dissolving  in  her  mouth. 

Through  the  summer  silence  a  bell  here  and 
there  in  the  dusky  city  sounded  the  hour. 

"The  tenth  muse,"  she  repeated,  "and  I  believe 
there  are  other  sisters,  also.  Many  a  star  is  sus 
pected  before  its  unseen  existence  is  proven.  .  .  . 
Please — a  glass  of  water?" 


XII 

SHE  sipped  the  water  pensively  as  we  all  re 
turned  to  our  places.     Then,  placing  the 
partly  empty  glass  beside  her  jar  of  sweet 
meats,  she  opened  her  incomparable  lips. 


It  is  a  fine  thing  when  a  young  man,  born  to 
travel  the  speedway  of  luxury,  voluntarily  leaves 
it  to  hew  out  a  pathway  for  himself  through  life. 
Brown  thought  so,  too.  And  at  twenty-four  he 
resolutely  graduated  from  Harvard,  stepped  out 
into  the  world,  and  looked  about  him  very  sternly. 

All  was  not  well  with  the  world.  Brown  knew 
it.  He  was  there  to  correct  whatever  was  wrong. 
And  he  had  chosen  Good  Literature  as  the  ve 
hicle  for  self  expression. 

Now,  the  nine  sister  goddesses  are  born  flirts; 


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and  every  one  of  them  immediately  glanced  side 
ways  at  Brown,  who  was  a  nice  young  man  with 
modesty,  principles,  and  a  deep  and  reverent  belief 
in  Good  Literature. 

The  nine  daughters  of  Zeus  and  Mnemosyne 
seemed  very  attractive  to  him  until  the  tenth  and 
most  recent  addition  to  the  Olympian  family 
sauntered  by  with  a  flirt  of  her  narrow  skirt — the 
jade! 

One  glance  into  the  starry  blue  wells  of  her 
baby  eyes  bowled  him  over.  Henceforth  she  was 
to  be  his  steady — Thalomene,  a  casual  daughter  of 
Zeus,  and  muse  of  all  that  is  sacredly  obvious  in 
the  literature  of  modern  realism. 

From  early  infancy  Brown's  had  been  a  career 
of  richest  promise.  His  mother's  desk  was  full 
of  his  earlier  impressions  of  life.  He  had,  in 
course  of  time,  edited  his  school  paper,  his  college 
paper;  and,  as  an  undergraduate,  he  had  ap 
peared  in  the  contributor's  columns  of  various 
periodicals. 

His  was  not  only  a  wealthy  but  a  cultivated 
lineage  as  well.  The  love  of  literature  was  born 
in  him. 

To  love  literature  is  all  right  in  its  way;  to 
love  it  too  well  is  to  mistake  the  appreciative  for 
the  creative  genius.  Reverence  and  devotion  are 
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no  equipment  for  creative  authorship.  It  is  not 
enough  to  have  something  to  say  about  what  other 
people  have  said.  And  the  inspiration  which 
comes  from  what  others  have  done  is  never  the 
true  one.  But  Brown  didn't  know  these  things. 
They  were  not  revealed  unto  him  at  Harvard ;  no 
inward  instinct  made  them  plain  to  him. 

He  began  by  foregathering  with  authors. 
Many,  many  authors  foregather,  from  various 
causes — tradition,  inclination,  general  shiftless- 
ness.  When  they  do  that  they  produce  a  sort  of 
serum  called  literary  atmosphere,  which  is  said  to 
be  delightful.  And  so  Brown  found  it.  However, 
there  are  authors  who  seem  to  be  too  busy  with 
their  profession  to  foregather  and  exhale  atmos 
phere.  But  these  are  doubtless  either  literary 
hacks  or  the  degraded  producers  of  best-sellers. 
They  are  not  authors,  either ;  they  are  merely 
writers. 

Now,  in  all  the  world  there  is  only  one  thing 
funnier  than  an  author;  and  that  is  a  number  of 
them.  But  Brown  didn't  know  that,  either. 

All  authors  are  reformers.  Said  one  of  them 
to  Brown  in  the  Empyrean  Club : 

"When  an  author  in  his  own  heart  ceases  to  be 
a  reformer  he  begins  to  be  a  menace !" 

It  was  a  fine  sentiment,  and  Brown  wrote  it  in 
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his  note-book.  Afterward,  the  more  he  analyzed 
it  the  less  it  seemed  to  mean. 

Another  author  informed  him  that  the  proper 
study  for  man  is  man.  He'd  heard  that  before, 
but  the  repetition  steeled  his  resolve.  And  his 
resolve  was  to  reproduce  in  literature  exactly 
what  he  observed  about  him ;  nothing  more,  noth 
ing  less. 

There  was  to  be  no  concession  to  imagination, 
none  to  convention,  none  to  that  insidious  form 
of  human  weakness  known  as  good  taste.  As  for 
art,  Brown  already  knew  what  Art  really  was. 

There  was  art  enough  for  anybody  in  sheer 
truth,  enough  in  the  realism  made  up  of  photo 
graphic  detail,  recorded  uncompromisingly  in  or 
dered  processional  sequence.  After  all,  there  was 
really  no  beauty  in  the  world  except  the  beauty 
of  absolute  truth.  All  other  alleged  beauty  was 
only  some  form  of  weakness.  Thus  Brown,  after 
inhaling  literary  atmosphere. 

Like  the  majority  of  young  men,  Brown  real 
ised  that  only  a  man,  and  a  perfectly  fearless* 
honest,  and  unprejudiced  one,  was  properly- 
equipped  to  study  woman  and  tell  the  entire 
truth  about  her  in  literature. 

So  he  began  his  first  great  novel — "The  Unquiet 
Sex" — and  he  made  heavy  weather  of  it  that  au- 
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tumn — what  with  contributing  to  the  literary  at 
mosphere  every  afternoon  and  evening  at  various 
clubs  and  cafes — not  to  mention  the  social  pur 
lieus  into  which  he  ventured  with  the  immortal 
lustre  already  phosphorescent  on  his  brow. 
Which  left  him  little  time  for  mere  writing.  It 
is  hard  to  be  an  author  and  a  writer,  too. 

The  proper  study  for  man  being  woman,  Brown 
studied  her  solemnly  and  earnestly.  He  studied 
his  mother  and  his  sisters,  boring  them  to  the 
verge  of  distraction ;  he  attempted  to  dissect  the 
motives  which  governed  the  behaviour  of  assorted 
feminine  relatives,  scaring  several  of  the  more 
aged  and  timorous,  agitating  others,  and  infuriat 
ing  one  or  two — until  his  father  ordered  him  to 
desist. 

House-maids,  parlour-maids,  ladies'-maids,  wait 
resses,  all  fought  very  shy  of  him ;  for  true  to  his 
art,  he  had  cast  convention  aside  and  had  striven 
to  fathom  the  souls  and  discover  the  hidden  mo 
tives  imbedded  in  Milesian,  Scandinavian  and 
Briton. 

"The  thing  for  me  to  do,"  said  Brown  rather 
bitterly  to  his  father,  "is  to  go  out  into  the  world 
and  investigate  far  and  wide." 

"Investigate  what?"  asked  his  father. 

"Woman!"  said  Brown  sturdily. 
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"There's  only  one  trouble  about  that." 

"What's  that?" 

"Woman,"  said  his  father,  "is  likely  to  do  the 
investigating.  This  household  knows  more  about 
you  than  you  do  about  it." 

Brown  smiled.      So  did  his  father. 

"Son,"  said  the  latter,  "what  have  you  learned 
about  women  without  knowing  anything  about 
them?" 

"Nothing,  naturally,"  said  Brown. 

"Then  you  will  never  have  anything  more  than 
that  to  say  about  them,"  remarked  Brown  senior. 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  the  only  thing  possible  for  a  man  to 
say  about  them  is  what  his  imagination  dictates. 
He'll  never  learn  any  more  concerning  women 
than  that." 

"Imagination  is  not  literature,"  said  Brown 
junior,  with  polite  toleration. 

"Imagination  is  often  the  truer  truth,"  said  the 
old  gentleman. 

"Father,  that  is  rot." 

"Yes,  my  son — and  it  is  almost  Good  Liter 
ature,  too.  Go  ahead,  shake  us  if  you  like.  But, 
if  you  do,  you'll  come  back  married." 


XIII 


SO  Brown,  who  was  nourishing  a  theory,  shook 
his  family  and,  requiring  mental  solitude  to 
develop  his  idea,  he  went  to  Verbena  Inlet. 
Not  to  the  enormous  and  expensive  caravansary 
swarming  with  wealth,  ennui,  envy,  and  fashion; 
not  even  to  its  sister  hotel  similarly  infested.    But 
to  West  Verbena,  where  for  a  mile  along  the  white 
shell  road  modest  hotels,  boarding  houses,  and  cot 
tages  nestled  behind  mosquito  screens  under  the 
dingy  cabbage-palmettos. 

Here  was  stranded  the  winter  driftwood  from 
the  North — that  peculiar  flotsam  and  jetsam 
which  summered  in  similar  resorts  in  the  North, 
rocked  in  rocking  chairs  on  dreary  rural  ver 
andas,  congregated  at  the  village  post-office, 
awaited  its  men  folk  every  week-end  from  the 
filthy  and  sweltering  metropolis. 

It  was  at  a   shabby  but   pretentious  hostelry 
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called  the  Villa  Hibiscus  that  Brown  took  up  his 
quarters.  Several  rusty  cabbage-palmettos  waved 
above  the  whitish,  sandy  soil  surrounding  it;  one 
or  two  discouraged  orange  trees  fruited  despond 
ently  near  the  veranda.  And  the  place  swarmed 
with  human  beings  from  all  over  the  United 
States,  lured  from  inclement  climes,  into  the  land 
of  the  orange  and  the  palm — wistfully  seeking  in 
the  land  of  advertised  perpetual  sunshine  what 
the  restless  world  has  never  yet  discovered  any 
where — surcease  from  care,  from  longing,  from 
the  unkindliness  of  its  fellow  seekers. 

Dowdiness  filled  the  veranda  rocking  chairs ; 
unlovely  hands  were  folded;  faded  eyes  gazed  va 
cantly  at  the  white  road,  at  the  oranges ;  enviously 
at  the  flashing  wheels  and  fluttering  lingerie  from 
the  great  Hotel  Verbena. 

Womanhood  was  there  in  all  its  ages  and  aver 
age  phases;  infancy,  youth,  middle  age,  age — all 
were  there  in  the  rusty  villas  and  hotels  ranged 
for  a  mile  along  the  smooth  shell  road. 

The  region,  thought  Brown  to  himself,  was 
rich  in  material.  And  the  reflection  helped  him 
somewhat  with  his  dinner,  which  needed  a  fillip 
or  two. 

In  his  faultless  dinner  jacket  he  sauntered  out 
after  the  evening  meal;  and  the  idea  which  pos- 
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sessed  and  even  thrilled  him  aided  him  to  forget 
what  he  had  eaten. 

The  lagoon  glimmered  mysteriously  in  the  star 
light;  the  royal  palms  bordering  it  rustled  high 
in  the  night  breeze  from  the  sea.  Perfume  from 
oleander  hedges  smote  softly  the  olfactories  of 
Brown ;  the  southern  whip-poor-wills'  hurried 
whisper  thrilled  the  darkness  with  a  deeper  mys 
tery. 

Here  was  the  place  to  study  woman.  There 
could  be  no  doubt  about  that.  Here,  untram 
melled,  uninterrupted,  unvexed  by  the  jarring  of 
the  world,  he  could  place  his  model,  turn  her 
loose,  and  observe  her. 

To  concentrate  all  his  powers  of  analytical  ob 
servation  upon  a  single  specimen  of  woman  was 
his  plan.  Painters  and  sculptors  used  models. 
He  meant  to  use  one,  too. 

It  would  be  simple.  First,  he  must  discover 
what  he  wanted.  This  accomplished,  he  had  de 
cided  to  make  a  plain  business  proposition  to  her. 
She  was  to  go  about  her  own  affairs  and  her  pleas 
ure  without  embarrassment  or  self-consciousness 
— behave  naturally ;  do  whatever  it  pleased  her  to 
do.  But  he  was  to  be  permitted  to  observe  her, 
follow  her,  make  what  notes  he  chose;  and,  as  a 
resume  of  each  day,  they  were  to  meet  in  some 
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quiet  spot  in  order  that  he  might  question  her  as 
he  chose,  concerning  whatever  interested  him,  or 
whatever  in  her  movements  or  behaviour  had 
seemed  to  him  involved  or  inexplicable. 

Thus  and  thus  only,  he  had  decided,  could 
light  be  shed  upon  the  mysterious  twilight  veiling 
the  inner  woman !  Thus  only  might  carefully  con 
cealed  motives  be  detected,  cause  and  effect  co 
ordinated,  the  very  source  of  all  feminine  logic, 
reason,  and  emotion  be  laid  bare  and  dissected  at 
leisure. 

Never  had  anybody  written  such  a  novel  as  he 
would  be  equipped  to  write.  The  ultimate  word 
concerning  woman  was  about  to  be  written. 

Inwardly  excited,  outwardly  calm,  he  had 
seated  himself  on  the  coquina  wall  which  ran  along 
the  lagoon  under  the  Royal  Palms.  He  was  about 
to  study  his  subject  as  the  great  masters  studied, 
coolly,  impersonally,  with  clear  and  merciless  in 
telligence,  setting  down  with  calm  simplicity  noth 
ing  except  facts. 

All  that  was  worthy  and  unworthy  should  be 
recorded — the  good  with  the  evil — nothing  should 
be  too  ephemeral,  too  minute,  to  escape  his  search 
ing  analysis. 

And  all  the  while,  though  Brown  was  not  aware 
of  it,  the  memory  of  a  face  he  had  seen  in  the 
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dining-room  grew  vaguely  and  faded,  waxing  and 
waning  alternately,  like  a  phantom  illustration  ac 
companying  his  thoughts. 

As  for  the  model  he  should  choose  to  study,  she 
ought  to  be  thoroughly  feminine,  he  thought; 
young,  probably  blonde,  well  formed,  not  very 
deeply  experienced,  and  with  every  human  capac 
ity  for  good  and  bad  alike. 

He  would  approach  her  frankly,  tell  her  what 
he  required,  offer  her  the  pay  of  an  artist's  model, 
three  dollars  a  day;  and,  if  she  accepted,  she 
could  have  her  head  and  do  what  she  liked.  All 
that  concerned  him  was  to  make  his  observations 
and  record  them. 

In  the  blue  starlight  people  passed  and  re- 
passed  like  ghosts  along  the  shell-road — the  white 
summer  gowns  of  young  girls  were  constantly  ap 
pearing  in  the  dusk,  taking  vague  shape,  vanish 
ing.  On  the  lagoon,  a  guitar  sounded  very  far 
away.  The  suave  scent  of  oleander  grew  sweeter. 

Spectral  groups  passed  in  clinging  lingerie; 
here  and  there  a  ghost  lingered  to  lean  over  the 
coquina  wall,  her  lost  gaze  faintly  accented  by 
some  level  star.  One  of  these,  a  slender  young 
thing,  paused  near  to  Brown,  resting  gracefully 
against  the  wall. 

All  around  her  the  whip-poor-wills  were  calling 
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breathlessly;  the  perfume  of  oleander  grew 
sweeter. 

As  for  the  girl  herself,  she  resembled  the  tenth 
muse.  Brown  had  never  attempted  to  visualise 
his  mistress ;  it  had  been  enough  for  him  that  she 
was  Thalomene,  daughter  of  Zeus,  and  divinely 
fair. 

But  now,  as  he  recognised  the  face  he  had  no 
ticed  that  evening  in  the  dining-room,  somehow 
he  thought  of  his  muse  for  the  first  time,  con 
cretely.  Perhaps  because  the  girl  by  the  coquina 
wall  was  young,  slim,  golden  haired,  and  Greek. 

His  impulse,  without  bothering  to  reason,  was 
to  hop  from  the  wall  and  go  over  to  where  she 
was  standing. 

She  looked  around  calmly  as  he  approached, 
gave  him  a  little  nod  in  recognition  of  his  lifted 
hat. 

"I'm  John  Brown,  4th,"  he  said.  "I'm  stop 
ping  at  the  Villa  Hibiscus.  Do  you  mind  my  say 
ing  so?" 

"No,  I  don't  mind,"  she  said. 

"There  is  a  vast  amount  of  nonsense  in  for 
mality  and  convention,"  said  Brown.  "If  you 
don't  mind  ignoring  such  details,  I  have  some 
thing  important  to  say  to  you." 

She  looked  at  him  unsmilingly.  Probably  it 
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was  the  starlight  in  her  eyes  that  made  them 
glimmer  as  though  with  hidden  laughter. 

"I  am,"  said  Brown,  pleasantly,  "an  author." 

"Really,"  she  said. 

"When  I  say  that  I  am  an  author,"  continued 
Brown  seriously,  "I  mean  in  the  higher  sense." 

"Oh.  What  is  the  higher  sense,  Mr.  Brown?" 
she  asked. 

"The  higher  sense  does  not  necessarily  imply 
authorship.  I  do  not  mean  that  I  am  a  mere 
writer.  I  have  written  very  little." 

"Oh,"  she  said. 

"Very  little,"  repeated  Brown  combatively. 
"You  will  look  in  vain  among  the  crowded  count 
ers  piled  high  with  contemporary  fiction  for  any 
thing  from  my  pen." 

"Then  perhaps  I  had  better  not  look,"  she  said 
so  simply  that  Brown  was  a  trifle  disappointed 
in  her. 

"Some  day,  however,"  he  said,  "you  may  search, 
and,  perhaps,  not  wholly  in  vain." 

"Oh,  you  are  writing  a  book !" 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "I  am,  so  to  speak,  at  work  on 
a  novel." 

"Might  one,  with  discretion,  make  further  in 
quiry  concerning  your  novel,  Mr.  Brown?" 

"You  may." 


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"Thank  you,"  she  said,  apparently  a  trifle  dis 
concerted  by  the  privilege  so  promptly  granted. 

"You  may,"  repeated  Brown.  "Shall  I  explain 
why?" 

"Please." 

"You  will  not  mistake  me,  I  am  sure.  Will 
you?" 

She  turned  her  pretty  face  toward  him. 

"I  don't  think  so,"  she  said  after  a  moment. 
The  starlight  was  meddling  with  her  eyes  again. 


XIV 

SO  Brown  told  her  about  his  theory;  how  he 
desired  to  employ  a  model,  how  he  desired 
to  study  her;  what  were  his  ideas  of  the 
terms  suitable. 

He  talked  fluently,  earnestly,  and  agreeably ;  and 
his  pretty  audience  listened  with  so  much  appar 
ent  intelligence  and  good  taste  that  her  very  at 
titude  subtly  exhilarated  Brown,  until  he  became 
slightly  aware  that  he  was  expressing  himself  elo 
quently. 

He  had,  it  seemed,  much  to  say  concerning  the 
profession  and  practice  of  good  literature.  It 
seemed,  too,  that  he  knew  a  great  deal  about  it, 
both  theoretically  and  practically.  His  esteem 
and  reverence  for  it  were  unmistakable ;  his  enthu 
siasm  worthy  of  his  courage. 

He  talked  for  a  long  while,  partly  about  liter- 
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ature,  partly  about  himself.  And  he  was  at  in 
tervals  a  trifle  surprised  that  he  had  so  much  to 
say,  and  wondered  at  the  valuable  accumulations 
of  which  he  was  unburdening  himself  with  such 
vast  content. 

The  girl  had  turned  her  back  to  the  lagoon  and 
stood  leaning  against  the  coquina  wall,  facing 
him,  her  slender  hands  resting  on  the  coping. 

Never  had  he  had  such  a  listener.  At  the 
clubs  and  cafes  other  literary  men  always  wanted 
to  talk.  But  here  under  the  great  southern  stars 
nobody  interrupted  the  limpid  flow  of  his  long 
dammed  eloquence.  And  he  ended  leisurely,  as 
he  had  begun,  yet  auto-intoxicated,  thrillingly 
conscious  of  the  spell  which  he  had  laid  upon 
himself,  upon  his  young  listener — conscious,  too, 
of  the  spell  that  the  soft  air  and  the  perfume  and 
the  stars  had  spun  over  a  world  grown  suddenly 
and  incredibly  lovely  and  young. 

She  said  in  a  low  voice:  "I  need  the  money 
very  much.  .  .  .  And  I  don't  mind  your  studying 
me." 

"Do  you  really  mean  it?"  he  exclaimed,  en 
chanted. 

"Yes.     But  there  is  one  trouble." 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked  apprehensively. 

"I  must  have  my  mornings  to  myself." 
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He  said :  "Under  the  terms  I  must  be  permitted 
to  ask  you  any  questions  I  choose.  You  under 
stand  that,  don't  you?" 

"Yes,"  she  said. 

"Then — why  must  you  have  your  mornings  to 
yourself?" 

"I  have  work  to  do." 

"What  work?     What  are  you?" 

She  flushed  a  trifle,  then,  accepting  the  rules  of 
the  game,  smiled  at  Brown. 

"I  am  a  school-teacher,"  she  said.  "Ill  health 
from  overwork  drove  me  South  to  convalesce.  I 
am  trying  to  support  myself  here  by  working  in 
the  mornings." 

"I  am  sorry,"  he  said  gently.  Then,  aware  of 
his  concession  to  a  very  human  weakness,  he 
added  with  business-like  decision:  "What  is  the 
nature  of  your  morning's  work?" 

"I — write,"  she  admitted. 

"Stories?" 

"Yes." 

"Fiction?" 

"Anything,  Mr.  Brown.  I  send  notes  to  fashion 
papers,  concerning  the  costumes  at  the  Hotel  Ver 
bena;  I  write  for  various  household  papers  spe 
cial  articles  which  would  not  interest  you  at  all. 
I  write  little  stories  for  the  women's  and  chil- 
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dren's  columns  in  various  newspapers.  You  see 
what  I  do  is  not  literature,  and  could  not  interest 
you." 

"If  you  are  to  act  for  me  in  the  capacity  of  a 
model,"  he  said  firmly,  "I  am  absolutely  bound  to 
study  every  phase  of  you,  every  minutest  detail." 

"Oh." 

"Not  one  minute  of  the  day  must  pass  without 
my  observing  you,"  he  said.  "Unless  you  are 
broad-minded  enough  to  comprehend  me  you  may 
think  my  close  and  unremitting  observation  im 
pertinent." 

"You  don't  mean  to  be  impertinent,  I  am  sure," 
she  faltered,  already  surprised,  apprehensive,  and 
abashed  by  the  prospect. 

"Of  course  I  don't  mean  to  be  impertinent,"  he 
said  smilingly,  "but  all  great  observers  pursue 
their  studies  unremittingly  day  and  night " 

"You  couldn't  do  that!"  she  exclaimed. 

"No,"  he  admitted,  troubled,  "that  would  not 
be  feasible.  You  require,  of  course,  a  certain 
amount  of  slumber." 

"Naturally,"  she  said. 

"I  ought,"  he  said  thoughtfully,  "to  study  that 
phase  of  you,  also." 

"What  phase,  Mr.  Brown?" 

"When  you  are  sleeping." 
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"But  that  is  impossible !" 

"Convention,"  he  said  disdainfully,  "makes  it 
so.  A  literary  student  is  fettered. 

"But  it  is  perfectly  possible  for  you  to  im 
agine  what  I  look  like  when  I'm  asleep,  Mr. 
Brown." 

"Imagination  is  to  play  no  part  in  my  literary 
work,"  he  said  coldly.  "What  I  set  down  are 
facts." 

"But  is  that  art?" 

"There  is  more  art  in  facts  than  there  are  facts 
in  art,"  he  said. 

"I  don't  quite  know  what  you  mean." 

He  didn't,  either,  when  he  came  to  analyse 
what  he  had  said;  and  he  turned  very  red  and 
admitted  it. 

"I  mean  to  be  honest  and  truthful,"  he  said. 
"What  I  just  said  sounded  clever,  but  meant  noth 
ing.  I  admit  it.  I  mean  to  be  perfectly  pitiless 
with  myself.  Anything  tainted  with  imagination ; 
anything  hinting  of  romance ;  any  weak  conces 
sion  to  prejudice,  convention,  good  taste,  I  re 
fuse  to  be  guilty  of.  Realism  is  what  I  aim  at; 
raw  facts,  however  unpleasant!" 

"I  don't  believe  you  will  find  anything  very 
unpleasant  about  me,"  she  said. 

"No,  I  don't  think  I  shall.  But  I  mean  to 
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detect  every  imperfection,  every  weakness,  every 
secret  vanity,  every  unworthy  impulse.  That  is 
why  I  desire  to  study  you  so  implacably.  Are 
you  willing  to  submit?" 

She  bit  her  lip  and  looked  thoughtfully  at  the 
stars. 

"You  know,"  she  said,  "that  while  it  may  be 
all  very  well  for  you  to  say  'anything  for  art's 
sake,'  /  can't  say  it.  I  can't  do  it,  either." 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  I  can't.  You  know  perfectly  well 
that  you  can't  follow  me  about  taking  notes  every 
minute  of  the  twenty-four  hours." 

He  said  very  earnestly:  "Sir  John  Lubbock  sat 
up  day  and  night,  never  taking  his  eyes  off  the 
little  colony  of  ants  which  he  had  under  observa 
tion  in  a  glass  box !" 

"Do  you  propose  to  sit  up  day  and  night  to 
keep  me  under  observation?"  she  asked,  flushed 
and  astounded. 

"Not  at  first.  But  as  my  studies  advance,  and 
you  become  accustomed  to  the  perfectly  respect 
ful  but  coldly  impersonal  nature  of  my  observa 
tions,  your  mind,  I  trust,  will  become  so  broad 
ened  that  you  will  find  nothing  objectionable  in 
what  at  first  might  scare  you.  An  artist's  model, 

for  example " 

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"But  I  am  not  an  artist's  model!"  she  ex 
claimed,  with  a  slight  shiver. 

"To  be  a  proper  model  at  all,"  he  said,  "you 
must  concede  all  for  art,  and  remain  sublimely 
unconscious  of  self.  You  do  not  matter.  I  do 
not  matter.  Only  my  work  counts.  And  that 
must  be  honest,  truthful,  accurate,  minute,  exact 
— a  perfect  record  of  a  woman's  mind  and  per 
sonality." 

For  a  few  moments  they  both  remained  silent. 
And  after  a  little  the  starlight  began  to  play 
tricks  with  her  eyes  again,  so  that  they  seemed 
sparkling  with  hidden  laughter.  But  her  face 
was  grave. 

She  said:  "I  really  do  need  the  money.  I  will 
do  what  I  can.  .  .  .  And  if  in  spite  of  my  cour 
age  I  ever  shrink — our  contract  shall  terminate 
at  once." 

"And  what  shall  I  do  then?"  inquired  Brown. 

The  starlight  glimmered  in  her  eyes.  She  said 
very  gravely: 

"In  case  the  demands  of  your  realism  and  your 
art  are  too  much  for  my  courage,  Mr.  Brown — 
you  will  have  to  find  another  model  to  study." 

"But  another  model  might  prove  as  conven 
tional  as  you!" 

"In  that  case,"  she  said,  while  her  sensitive 
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lower  lip  trembled,  and  the  starlight  in  her  eyes 
grew  softly  brilliant,  "in  that  case,  Mr.  Brown,  I 
am  afraid  that  there  would  be  only  one  course  to 
pursue  with  that  other  model." 

"What  course  is  that?"  he  asked,  deeply  in 
terested. 

"I'm  afraid  you'd  have  to  marry  her." 

"Good  Lord !"  he  said.  "I  can't  marry  every 
girl  I  mean  to  study !" 

"Oh !     Do  you  mean  to  study  very  many  ?" 

"I  have  my  entire  life  and  career  before  me." 

"Yes.  That  is  true.  But — women  are  much 
alike.  One  model,  thoroughly  studied,  might  serve 
for  them  all — with  a  little  imagination." 

"I  have  no  use  for  imagination  in  fiction,"  said 
Brown  firmly.  After  a  moment's  silence,  he  added : 
"Is  it  settled,  then?" 

"About  our — contract?" 

"Yes." 

She  considered  for  a  long  while,  then,  looking 
up,  she  nodded. 

"That's  fine!"  exclaimed  Brown,  with  enthu 
siasm. 

They  walked  back  to  the  Villa  Hibiscus  to 
gether,  slowly,  through  the  blue  starlight.  Brown 
asked  her  name,  and  she  told  him. 

"No,"  he  said  gaily,  "your  name  is  Thalomenc, 
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and  you  are  the  tenth  muse.  For  truly  I  think  I 
have  never  before  been  so  thoroughly  inspired  by 
a  talk  with  anyone." 

She  laughed.  He  had  done  almost  all  the  talk 
ing.  And  he  continued  it,  very  happily,  as  by 
common  consent  they  seated  themselves  on  the 
veranda. 


XV 


THE  inhabitants  of  the  Villa  Hibiscus  re 
tired.     But  Brown  talked  on,  quite  un 
conscious   that   the   low-voiced   questions 
and  softly  modulated  replies  were   magic  which 
incited  him  to  a  perfect  ecstasy  of  self-revelation. 
Perhaps  he  thought  he  was  studying  her — for 
the  compact  by  mutual  consent  was   already  in 
force — and    certainly    his    eyes    were    constantly 
upon  her,  taking,  as  no  doubt  he  supposed,  a  cold 
and     impersonal     measure     of     her     symmetry. 
Calmly,  and  with  utter  detachment,  he  measured 
her  slender  waist,  her  soft  little  hands ;  noting  the 
fresh,  sweet  lips,  the  clear,  prettily  shaped  eyes, 
the  delicate  throat,  the  perfect  little  Greek  head 
with  its  thick,  golden  hair. 

And  all  the  while  he  held  forth  about  literature 
and  its  true  purpose ;  about  what  art  really  is ; 
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about  his  own  art,  his  own  literature,  and  his  own 
self. 

And  the  girl  was  really  fascinated. 

She  had  seen,  at  a  distance,  such  men.  When 
Brown  had  named  himself  to  her,  she  had  recog 
nised  the  name  with  awe,  as  a  fashionable  and 
wealthy  name  known  to  Gotham. 

Yet,  had  Brown  known  it,  neither  his  eloquence 
nor  his  theories,  nor  his  aims,  were  what  fas 
cinated  her.  But  it  was  his  boyish  enthusiasm,  his 
boyish  intolerance,  his  immaturity,  his  happy  cer 
tainty  of  the  importance  of  what  concerned  him 
self. 

He  was  so  much  a  boy,  so  much  a  man,  such  a 
candid,  unreasonable,  eager,  selfish,  impulsive,  por 
tentous,  and  delightfully  illogical  mixture  of  boy 
and  man  that  the  combination  fascinated  every 
atom  of  womanhood  in  her — and  at  moments  as 
the  night  wore  on,  she  found  herself  listening 
perilously  close  to  the  very  point  of  sympathy. 

He  appeared  to  pay  no  heed  to  the  flight  of 
time.  The  big  stars  frosted  Heaven;  the  lagoon 
was  silvered  by  them;  night  winds  stirred  the 
orange  bloom ;  oleanders  exhaled  a  bewitching  per 
fume. 

As  he  lay  there  in  his  rocking  chair  beside  her, 
it  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  known  her  intimately 
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for  years — so  wonderfully  does  the  charm  of  self- 
revelation  act  upon  human  reason.  For  she  had 
said  almost  nothing  about  herself.  Yet,  it  was 
becoming  plainer  to  him  every  moment  that  never 
in  all  his  life  had  he  known  any  woman  as  he 
already  knew  this  young  girl. 

"It  is  wonderful,"  he  said,  lying  back  in  his 
chair  and  looking  up  at  the  stars,  "how  subtle  is 
sympathy,  and  how  I  recognise  yours.  I  think  I 
understand  you  perfectly  already." 

"Do  you?"  she  said. 

"Yes,  I  feel  sure  I  do.  Somehow,  I  know  that 
secretly  and  in  your  own  heart  you  are  in  full 
tide  of  sympathy  with  me  and  with  my  life's 
work." 

"I  thought  you  had  no  imagination,"  she  said. 

"I  haven't.  Do  you  mean  that  I  only  imagine 
that  you  are  in  sympathy  with  me?" 

"No,"  she  said.     "I  am." 

After  a  few  moments  she  laughed  deliciously. 
He  never  knew  why.  Nor  was  she  ever  perfectly 
sure  why  she  had  laughed,  though  they  discussed 
the  matter  very  gravely. 

A  new  youth  seemed  to  have  invaded  her,  an  ex 
quisite  sense  of  lightness,  of  power.  Vaguely  she 
was  conscious  of  ability,  of  a  wonderful  and  un 
dreamed  of  capacity.  Within  her  heart  she  seemed 
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to  feel  the  subtle  stir  of  a  new  courage,  a  certainty 
of  the  future,  of  indefinable  but  splendid  things. 

The  manuscript  of  the  novel  which  she  had 
sent  North  two  weeks  ago  seemed  to  her  a  winged 
thing  soaring  to  certain  victory  in  the  empyrean. 
Suddenly,  by  some  magic,  doubt,  fear,  distress, 
were  allayed — and  it  was  like  surcease  from  a 
steady  pain,  with  all  the  blessed  and  heavenly 
languor  relaxing  her  mind  and  body. 

And  all  the  while  Brown  talked  on. 

Lying  there  in  her  chair  she  listened  to  him 
while  the  thoughts  in  her  eased  mind  moved  in 
delicate  accompaniment. 

Somehow  she  understood  that  never  in  her  life 
had  she  been  so  happy — with  this  boy  babbling 
beside  her,  and  her  own  thoughts  responding  al 
most  tenderly  to  his  youth,  his  inconsistencies,  to 
the  arrogance  typical  of  his  sex.  He  was  so 
wrong ! — so  far  from  the  track,  so  utterly  astray, 
so  pitiably  confident!  Who  but  she  should  know, 
who  had  worked  and  studied  and  failed  and 
searched,  always  writing)  however — which  is  the 
only  way  in  the  world  to  learn  how  to  write — or 
to  learn  that  there  is  no  use  in  writing. 

Her  hand  lay  along  the  flat  arm  of  her  rock 
ing-chair;  and  once,  when  he  had  earnestly  sus 
tained  a  perfectly  untenable  theory  concerning 
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success  in  literature,  unconsciously  she  laid  her 
fresh,  smooth  hand  on  his  arm  in  impulsive  pro 
test. 

"No,"  she  said,  "don't  think  that  way.  You  are 
quite  wrong.  That  is  the  road  to  failure!" 

It  was  her  first  expression  of  disagreement,  and 
he  looked  at  her  amazed. 

"I  am  afraid  you  think  I  don't  know  anything 
about  real  literature  and  realism,"  she  said,  "but 
I  do  know  a  little." 

"Every  man  must  work  out  his  salvation  in 
his  own  way,"  he  insisted,  still  surprised  at  her 
dissent. 

"Yes,  but  one  should  be  equipped  by  long  prac 
tice  in  the  art  before  definitely  choosing  one's 
final  course." 

"I  am  practiced." 

"I  don't  mean  theoretically,"  she  murmured. 

He  laughed :  "Oh,  you  mean  mere  writing,"  he 
said,  gaily  confident.  "That,  according  to  my 
theory,  is  not  necessary  to  real  experience.  Lit 
erature  is  something  loftier." 

In  her  feminine  heart  every  instinct  of  woman 
hood  was  aroused — pity  for  the  youth  of  him, 
sympathy  for  his  obtuseness,  solicitude  for  his 
obstinacy,  tenderness  for  the  fascinating  combi 
nation  of  boy  and  man,  which  might  call  itself 
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by  any  name  it  chose — even  "author" — and  go 
blundering  along  without  a  helping  hand  amid 
shrugs  and  smiles  to  a  goal  marked  "Failure." 

"I  wonder,"  she  said  almost  timidly,  "whether 
you  could  ever  listen  to  me." 

"Always,"  he  said,  bending  nearer  to  see  her 
expression.  Which  having  seen,  he  perhaps  for 
got  to  note  in  his  little  booklet,  for  he  continued 
to  look  at  her. 

"I  haven't  very  much  to  say,"  she  said.  "Only 
— to  learn  any  art  or  trade  or  profession  it  is 
necessary  to  work  at  it  unremittingly.  But  to 
discuss  it  never  helped  anybody." 

"My  dear  child,"  he  said,  "I  know  that  what 
you  say  was  the  old  idea.  But,"  he  shrugged, 
"I  do  not  agree  with  it." 

"I  am  so  sorry,"  she  said. 

"Sorry?     Why  are  you  sorry?" 

"I  don't  know.  .  .  .  Perhaps  because  I  like 
you." 

It  was  not  very  much  to  say — not  a  very  sig 
nificant  declaration ;  but  the  simplicity  and  sweet 
ness  of  it — her  voice — the  head  bent  a  little  in 
the  starlight — all  fixed  Brown's  attention.  He 
sat  very  still  there  in  the  luminous  dusk  of  the 
white  veranda ;  the  dew  dripped  steadily  like  rain ; 
the  lagoon  glittered. 

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Then,  subtly,  taking  Brown  unawares,  his  most 
treacherous  enemy  crept  upon  him  with  a  stealth 
incredible,  and,  before  Brown  knew  it,  was  in  full 
possession  of  his  brain.  The  enemy  was  Imagi 
nation. 

Minute  after  minute  slipped  away  in  the  scented 
dusk,  and  found  Brown's  position  unchanged, 
where  he  lay  in  his  chair  looking  at  her. 

The  girl  also  was  very  silent. 

With  what  wonderful  attributes  his  enemy,  Im 
agination,  was  busily  endowing  the  girl  beside 
him  in  the  starlight,  there  is  no  knowing.  His 
muse  was  Thalomene,  slim  daughter  of  Zeus ;  and 
whether  she  was  really  still  on  Olympus  or  here 
beside  him  he  scarcely  knew,  so  perfectly  did  this 
young  girl  inspire  him,  so  exquisitely  did  she  fill 
the  bill. 

"It  is  odd,"  he  said,  after  a  long  while,  "that 
merely  a  few  hours  with  you  should  inspire  me 
more  than  I  have  ever  been  inspired  in  all  my 
life." 

"That,"  she  said  unsteadily,  "is  your  imagina 
tion." 

At  the  hateful  word,  imagination,  Brown 
seemed  to  awake  from  the  spell.  Then  he  sat  up 
straight,  rather  abruptly. 

"The  thing  to  do,"  he  said,  still  confused  by 
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his  awakening,  "is  to  consider  you  impersonally 
and  make  notes  of  everything."  And  he  fumbled 
for  pencil  and  note-book,  and,  rising,  stepped 
across  to  the  front  door,  where  a  light  was 
burning. 

Standing  under  it  he  resolutely  composed  his 
thoughts;  but  to  save  his  life  he  could  remember 
nothing  of  which  to  make  a  memorandum. 

This  worried  him,  and  finally  alarmed  him. 
And  so  long  did  he  stand  there,  note-book  open, 
pencil  poised,  and  a  sickly  expression  of  dismay 
imprinted  upon  his  otherwise  agreeable  features, 
that  the  girl  rose  at  last  from  her  chair,  glanced 
in  through  the  door  at  him,  and  then  came  for 
ward. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  she  asked. 

"The  matter  is,"  said  Brown,  "that  I  don't 
seem  to  have  anything  to  write  about." 

"You  are  tired,"  she  said.  "I  think  we  both 
are  a  little  tired." 

"/  am  not.  Anyway,  I  have  something  to 
write  about  now.  Wait  a  moment  till  I  make  a 
note  of  how  you  walk — the  easy,  graceful,  flow 
ing  motion,  so  exquisitely  light  and " 

"But  /  don't  walk  like  that !"  she  said,  laughing. 

" — Graciously  as  a  youthful  goddess,"  mut 
tered  Brown,  scribbling  away  busily  in  his  note- 
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book.  "Tell  me;  what  motive  had  you  just  now 
in  rising  and  coming  to  ask  me  what  was  the  mat 
ter — with  such  a  sweetly  apprehensive  expression 
in  your  eyes?" 

"My — my  motive?"  she  repeated,  astonished. 

"Yes.     You  had  one,  hadn't  you?" 

"Why — I  don't  know.  You  looked  worried ;  so 
I  came." 

"The  motive,"  said  Brown,  "was  feminine  solici 
tude — an  emotion  natural  to  nice  women.  Thank 
you."  And  he  made  a  note  of  it. 

"But  motives  and  emotions  are  different  things," 
she  said  timidly.  "I  had  no  motive  for  coming 
to  ask  you  why  you  seemed  troubled." 

"Wasn't  your  motive  to  learn  why?" 

"Y-yes,  I  suppose  so." 

He  laid  his  head  on  one  side  and  inspected  her 
critically. 

"And  if  anything  had  been  amiss  with  me  you 
would  have  been  sorry,  wouldn't  you?" 

"Yes." 

"Why?" 

"Why?  Because — one  is  sorry  when  a  friend — 
when  anyone — 

"I  am  your  friend,"  he  said.  "So  why  not  say 
it?" 

"And  I  am  yours — if  you  wish,"  she  said. 
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"Yes,    I    do."       He    began    to    write:      "It's 

rather  odd  how  friendship  begins.     We  both  seem 

to  want  to  be  friends."    And  to  her  he  said :  "How 

does    it   make    you    feel — the   idea    of    our   being 

•friends?     What  emotions  does  it  arouse  in  you?" 

She  looked  at  him  in  sorrowful  surprise.  "I 
thought  it  was  real  friendship  you  meant,"  she 
murmured,  "not  the  sort  to  make  a  note  about." 

"But  I've  got  to  make  notes  of  everything. 
Don't  you  see?  Certainly  our  friendship  is  real 
enough — but  I've  got  to  study  it  minutely  and 
make  notes  concerning  it.  It's  necessary  to  make 
records  of  everything — how  you  walk,  stand, 
speak,  look,  how  you  go  upstairs " 

"I  am  going  now,"  she  said. 

He  followed,  scribbling  furiously;  and  it  is 
difficult  to  go  upstairs,  watch  a  lady  go  upstairs, 
and  write  about  the  way  she  does  it  all  at  the 
same  time. 

"Good-night,"  she  said,  opening  her  door. 

"Good-night,"  he  said,  absently,  and  so  intent 
on  his  scribbling  that  he  followed  her  through 
the  door  into  her  room. 


XVI 

SHE  goes  upstairs  as  though  she  were  floating 
up,"    he    wrote,    with    enthusiasm;    "her 
lovely  figure,  poised  on  tip-toe,  seems  to 
soar  upward,  ascending  as  naturally  and  grace 
fully  as  the  immortals  ascended  the  golden  stairs 

of  Jacob ' 

In  full  flood  of  his  treacherous  imagination  he 
seated  himself  on  a  chair  beside  her  bed,  rested 
the  note-book  on  his  knees,  and  scribbled  madly, 
utterly  oblivious  to  her.  And  it  was  only  when 
he  had  finished,  for  sheer  lack  of  material,  that  he 
recollected  himself,  looked  up,  saw  how  she  had 
shrunk  away  from  him  against  the  wall — how  the 
scarlet  had  dyed  her  face  to  her  temples. 

"Why — why  do  you  come — into  my  bedroom?" 
she  faltered.     "Does  our  friendship  count  for  no 
more  than  that  with  you?" 
"What?"  he  said,  bewildered. 
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"That  you  do  what  you  have  no  right  to  do. 
Art — art  is  not  enough  to — to — excuse — disre 
spect 

Suddenly  the  tears  sprang  to  her  eyes,  and  she 
covered  her  flushed  face  with  both  hands. 

For  a  moment  Brown  stood  petrified.  Then  a 
deeper  flush  than  hers  settled  heavily  over  his 
features. 

"I'm  sorry,"  he  said. 

She  made  no  response. 

"I  didn't  mean  to  hurt  you.  I  do  respect  you," 
he  said. 

No  response. 

Brown  gazed  at  her,  gazed  at  his  note-book. 

Then  he  hurled  the  note-book  across  the  room 
and  walked  over  to  her  as  she  lifted  her  lovely 
head,  startled  and  tearful. 

"You  are  right,"  he  said,  swallowing  nothing 
very  desperately.  "You  can  not  be  studied  this 
way.  Will  you — marry  me?" 

"What !" 

"Will  you  marry  me?" 

"Why?"  she  gasped. 

"Because  I — want  to  study  you." 

"No !"  she  said,  looking  him  straight  in  the 
eyes. 

Brown  thought  hard  for  a  full  minute. 
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"Would  you  marry  me  because  I  love  you?"  he 
asked  timidly. 

The  question  seemed  to  be  more  than  she  could 
answer.  Besides,  the  tears  sprang  to  her  blue 
eyes  again,  and  her  under  lip  began  to  tremble, 
and  she  covered  her  face  with  both  hands.  Which 
made  it  impossible  for  him  to  kiss  her. 

"Isn't  it  wonderful?"  he  said  earnestly,  trembl 
ing  from  head  to  foot.  "Isn't  it  wonderful, 
dear?" 

"Yes,"  she  whispered.  The  word,  uttered 
against  his  shoulder,  was  stifled.  He  bent  his 
head  nearer,  murmuring: 

"Thalomene  —  Thalomene  —  embodiment  of 
Truth !  How  wonderful  it  is  to  me  that  at  last  I 
find  in  you  that  absolute  Truth  I  worship." 

"I  am — the  embodiment — of  your — imagina 
tion,"  she  said.  "But  you  will  never,  never  be 
lieve  it — most  adorable  of  boys — dearest — dear 
est  of  men." 

And,  lifting  her  stately  and  divine  young  head, 
she  looked  innocently  at  Brown  while  he  imprinted 
his  first  and  most  chaste  kiss  upon  the  fresh,  sweet 
lips  of  the  tenth  muse,  Thalomene, daughter  of  Zeus. 


'Athalie,"  said  the  youthful  novelist  more  in 
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sorrow  than  in  anger,  "you  are  making  game  of 
everything  I  hold  most  important." 

"Provide  yourself  with  newer  and  truer  gods, 
dear  child,"  said  the  girl,  laughing.  "After 
you've  worshipped  them  long  enough  somebody  will 
also  poke  fun  at  them.  Whereupon,  if  you  are 
fortunate  enough  to  be  one  of  those  who  continues 
to  mature  until  he  matures  himself  into  the 
Ewigkeit,  you  will  instantly  quit  those  same  over- 
mauled  and  worn  out  gods  for  newer  and  truer 
ones." 

"And  so  on  indefinitely,"  I  added. 

"In  literature,"  began  the  novelist,  "the  great 
masters  must  stand  as  parents  for  us  in  our  first 
infantile  steps — 

"No,"  said  the  girl,  "all  worthy  aspirants  en 
ter  the  field  of  literature  as  orphans.  Opportu 
nity  and  Fates  alone  stand  for  them  in  loco  par- 
entis.  And  the  child  of  these  is  known  as  Des 
tiny." 

"No  cubist  could  beat  that,  Athalie,"  remarked 
Duane.  "I'm  ashamed  of  you — or  proud — I  don't 
know  which." 

"Dear  child,"  she  said,  "you  will  never  know 
the  true  inwardness  of  any  sentiment  you  enter 
tain  concerning  me  until  I  explain  it  to  you." 

"Smitten  again  hip  and  thigh,"  said  Stafford. 
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"Fair  lady,  I  am  far  too  wary  to  tell  you  what  I 
think  of  the  art  of  incoherence  as  practised 
occasionally  by  the  prettiest  Priestess  in  the 
Temple." 

Athalie  looked  at  me  as  the  sweetmeat  melted 
on  her  tongue. 

"You  promised  me  a  dog,"  she  remarked. 

"I've  picked  him  out.  He'll  be  weaned  in  an 
other  week." 

"What  species  of  pup  is  he?"  inquired  Duane. 

"An  Iceland  terrier,"  I  answered.  "They  use 
them  for  digging  out  walrus  and  seals." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Duane  pleasantly. 

"After  all,"  observed  the  girl,  lifting  her  glass 
of  water,  "it  does  not  concern  Mr.  Duane  what 
sort  of  a  dog  you  have  chosen  for  me." 

She  sipped  it  leisurely,  looking  over  the  deli 
cate  crystal  rim  at  Duane. 

"You  are  young,"  she  said.  "  'L'enfance  est 
le  sommeil  de  la  raison.' ' 

"How  would  you  like  to  have  an  Angora  kit 
ten?"  he  asked,  reddening  slightly. 

"But  infancy,"  she  added,  "is  always  ador 
able.  ...  I  think  I  might  like  a  white  one  with 
blue  eyes." 

"Puppies,  kittens,  children,"  remarked  Staf 
ford — "they're  all  tolerable  while  they're  young." 
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"All  of  these,"  said  the  girl  softly,  "I  should 
like  to  have." 

And  she  gazed  inquiringly  at  the  crystal.  But 
it  could  tell  her  nothing  of  herself  or  of  her  hopes. 
She  turned  and  looked  out  into  the  dark  city,  a 
trifle  wearily,  it  seemed  to  me. 


XVII 

AFTER  a  silence,  she  lay  back  among  her 
cushions  and  glanced  at  us  with  a  faint 
smile. 

"One  day  last  winter,"  she  said,  "after  the  last 
client  had  gone  and  office  hours  were  over,  I  sat 
here  thinking,  wondering  what  in  the  world 
could  be  worse  for  a  girl  than  to  have  no  par 
ents.  .  .  .  And  I  happened  to  glance  into  my 
crystal,  and  saw  there  an  incident  beginning  to 
evolve  that  cheered  me  up,  because  it  was  a  par 
ody  on  my  more  morbid  train  of  thought.  After 
all,  the  same  Chance  that  gives  a  child  to  its 
parents  gives  the  parents  to  that  child.  You 
may  think  this  is  Tupper,"  she  added,  "but  it  is 
Athalie.  And  that  being  the  case,  nobody  will 
laugh." 

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Quick   Action 


Nobody  did  laugh. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said  sweetly.  "Now  I  will 
tell  you  what  I  saw  in  my  crystal  when  I  hap 
pened  to  be  feeling  unusually  alone  in  the  world." 
And  with  a  pretty  nod  to  us,  collectively,  she  be 
gan. 


The  bulk  of  the  cargo  and  a  few  bodies  were 
coming  ashore  at  the  eastern  end  of  the  island, 
and  that  is  where  the  throngs  were — people  from 
the  Light  House,  fishermen  from  the  inlet,  and 
hundreds  of  winter  tourists  from  St.  Augustine, 
in  white  flannels  and  summer  gowns,  all  attracted 
to  Ibis  Island  by  the  grewsome  spectacle  of  the 
wreck. 

The  West  Indian  hurricane  had  done  its  terrific 
business  and  had  gone,  leaving  a  turquoise  sky 
untroubled  by  a  cloud,  and  a  sea  of  snow  and 
cobalt. 

Nothing  living  had  been  washed  ashore  from 
the  wreck.  As  for  the  brig,  she  had  vanished — 
if  there  had  been  anything  left  of  her  to  disap 
pear  except  the  wreckage,  human  and  otherwise, 
that  had  come  tumbling  ashore  through  the  surf 
all  night  long. 

So  young  Gray,  seeing  that  there  was  nothing 
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for  him  to  do,  and  not  caring  for  the  spectacle  at 
the  eastern  end  of  the  island,  turned  on  his  heel 
and  walked  west  through  thickets  of  sweet  bay, 
palmetto,  and  beach-grape. 

He  wore  the  lightest  weight  solaro,  with  a  hel 
met  and  close-fitting  puttees  of  the  same.  Two 
straps  crossed  his  breast,  the  one  supporting  a 
well  filled  haversack,  the  other  a  water  bottle. 
Except  for  fire  arms  he  was  equipped  for  darkest 
Africa,  or  for  anything  else  on  earth — at  least 
he  supposed  so.  He  was  wrong;  he  was  not 
equipped  for  what  he  was  about  to  encounter  on 
Ibis  Island. 

It  happened  in  this  manner :  traversing  the  sea 
ward  dunes,  because  the  beach  no  longer  afforded 
him  even  a  narrow  margin  for  a  footing,  shoulder 
deep  in  a  tangle  of  beach-grapes,  he  chanced  to 
glance  at  the  little  sandy  cove  which  he  was  skirt 
ing,  and  saw  there  an  empty  fruit  crate  tumbling 
in  the  smother  of  foam,  and  a  very  small  setter 
puppy  clinging  to  it  frantically,  with  every  claw 
clutching,  and  his  drenched  tail  between  his  legs. 

Even  while  Gray  was  forcing  his  eager  way 
through  the  tangle,  he  was  aware  of  somebody  else 
moving  forward  through  the  high  scrub  just  west 
of  him;  and  as  he  sprang  out  onto  the  beach  and 
laid  his  hand  on  the  stranded  fruit  crate,  another 
153 


Quick   Action 


hand,  slimmer  and  whiter  than  his,  fell  on  the 
crate  as  he  dragged  it  out  of  the  foamy  shallows 
and  up  across  the  dry  sand,  just  as  a  tremendous 
roller  smashed  into  clouds  of  foam  behind  it. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  a  breathless  voice 
at  his  elbow,  "but  I  think  I  saw  this  little  dog 
first." 

Gray  already  was  reaching  for  the  shivering 
little  thing,  but  two  other  hands  deprived  him  of 
the  puppy;  and  he  looked  up,  impatient  and  an 
noyed,  into  the  excited  brown  eyes  of  a  young 
girl. 

She  had  taken  the  dripping,  clawing  little  crea 
ture  to  her  breast,  where  it  shivered  and  moaned 
and  whined,  shoving  its  cold  nose  up  under  her 
chin. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Gray,  firmly,  "but  I 
am  really  very  certain  that  I  first  discovered  that 
dog." 

"I  am  sorry  you  think  so,"  she  said,  clasping 
the  creature  all  the  tighter. 

"I  do  think  so,"  insisted  Gray.     "I  know  it !" 

"I  am  very  sorry,"  she  repeated.  Over  the 
puppy's  shivering  back  her  brown  eyes  gazed  upon 
Gray.  They  were  very  pretty,  but  hostile. 

"There  can  be  no  question  about  the  ownership 
of  this  pup,"  persisted  Gray.  "Of  course,  I  am 
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sorry  if  you  really  think  you  discovered  the  dog. 
Because  you  didn't." 

"I  did  discover  him,"  she  said,  calmly. 

"I  beg  your  pardon.  I  was  walking  through 
the  beach-grapes " 

"I  beg  yours !  I  also  was  crossing  the  sweet- 
bay  scrub  when  I  happened  to  glance  down  at 
the  cove  and  saw  this  poor  little  dog  in  the  water." 

"That  is  exactly  what  7  did!  I  happened  to 
glance  down,  and  there  I  saw  this  little  dog.  In 
stantly  I  sprang " 

"So  did  I ! — I  beg  your  pardon  for  interrupt 
ing  you !" 

"I  was  merely  explaining  that  I  first  saw  the 
dog,  and  next  I  noticed  you.  But  first  of  all  I 
saw  the  dog." 

"That  is  the  exact  sequence  in  my  own  obser 
vations,"  she  rejoined  calmly.  "First  of  all  I  saw 
the  dog  in  the  water,  then  I  heard  a  crash  in  the 
bush,  and  saw  something  floundering  about  in  the 
tangle." 

"And,"  continued  Gray,  much  annoyed  by  her 
persistency,  "no  sooner  had  I  caught  hold  of  the 
crate  than  you  came  up  and  laid  your  hand  on  it, 
also.  You  surely  must  remember  that  I  had  my 
hand  on  the  crate  before  you  did !" 

"I  am  very  sorry  you  think  so.  The  contrary 
155 


Quick   Action 


was  the  case.  /  took  firm  hold  of  the  crate,  and 
then  you  aided  me  to  draw  it  up  out  of  the 
water." 

"It  is  extraordinary,"  he  said,  "how  mistaken 
you  are  concerning  the  actual  sequence  of  events. 
Not  that  I  doubt  for  a  moment  that  you  really 
suppose  you  discovered  the  dog.  •  Probably  you 
were  a  little  excited " 

"I  was  perfectly  cool.  Possibly  you  were  a 
trifle  excited." 

"Not  in  the  least,"  he  retorted  with  calm  ex 
asperation.  "I  never  become  agitated." 

The  puppy  continued  to  shiver  and  drive  its 
nose  up  under  the  girl's  chin. 

"Poor  little  thing!  Poor  little  shipwrecked 
baby!"  she  crooned.  And,  to  Gray:  "I  don't 
know  why  this  puppy  should  be  so  cold.  The 
water  is  warm  enough." 

"Put  it  in  the  hot  sand,"  he  said.  "We  can 
rub  it  dry." 

She  hesitated,  flushing  perhaps  at  her  own  sus 
picions  ;  but  nevertheless  she  said : 

"You  would  not  attempt  to  take  it  if  I  put  it 
down,  would  you?" 

"I  don't  intend  to  snatch  it,"  he  said  with  dig 
nity.  "Men  don't  snatch." 

So  they  went  inland  a  few  paces  where  the  sand 
156 


I  am  in  possession  of  the  dog  and  you  merely 
claim  possession.'  " 


Quick   Action 


was  hot  and  loose  and  deep ;  and  there  they  knelt 
down  and  put  the  puppy  on  the  sand. 

"Scrub  him  thoroughly,"  she  suggested,  pour 
ing  heaping  handfuls  of  hot,  silvery  sand  over  the 
little  creature. 

Gray  did  likewise,  and  together  they  rubbed  and 
scrubbed  and  rolled  the  puppy  about  until  the 
dog  began  to  roll  on  his  back  all  by  himself,  twist 
ing  and  wriggling  and  waving  his  big,  padded 
paws. 

"What  he  wants  is  water,"  asserted  Gray,  un 
strapping  his  haversack  and  bottle.  From  the 
one  he  produced  an  aluminum  pannikin;  from  the 
other  he  filled  it  with  water.  The  puppy  drank 
it  all  while  Gray  and  the  brown-eyed  girl  looked 
on  intently. 

Then  Gray  produced  some  beef  sandwiches,  and 
the  famished  little  creature  leaped  and  whirled 
and  danced  as  Gray  fed  him  cautiously,  bit  by  bit. 

"Do  you  think  that  is  perfectly  fair?"  asked 
the  girl  gravely. 

"Fair?"  repeated  Gray  guiltily. 

"Yes.  Who  first  feeds  a  strange  dog  is  recog 
nised  as  the  reigning  authority." 

"Very  well,  you  may  feed  him,  too.  But  that 
does  not  alter  the  facts  in  the  case." 

"The  facts,"  said  the  girl,  taking  a  sandwich 
157 


Quick   Action 


from  Gray,  "are  that  I  am  in  possession  of  the 
dog  and  you  merely  claim  possession." 

They  fed  him  alternately  and  in  silence — until 
their  opinion  became  unanimous  that  it  was  dan 
gerous,  for  the  present,  to  feed -him  any  more. 

The  puppy  begged  and  pleaded  and  ca j  oled  and 
danced — a  most  appealing  and  bewitching  little 
creature,  silvery  white  and  blue-ticked,  with  a  tiny 
tan  point  over  each  eye  and  a  black  and  tan 
saddle. 

"Lavarack,"  observed  Gray. 

"English,"  she  nodded. 

It  wagged  not  only  its  little,  whippy  tail,  but 
in  doing  so  wriggled  its  entire  hind  quarters,  show 
ing  no  preference  for  either  of  its  rescuers,  but 
bestowing  winning  and  engaging  favours  impar 
tially. 

The  girl  could  endure  it  no  longer,  but  snatched 
the  puppy  to  her  with  a  soft  little  cry,  and 
cuddled  it  tight.  Gray  looked  on  gloomily.  Then, 
when  she  released  it,  he  took  it  and  caressed  it  in 
masculine  fashion.  There  was  no  discernible  dif 
ference  in  its  affectionate  responses. 

After  the  dog  had  lavished  enthusiasm  and  af 
fection  on  its  saviours  to  the  point  of  physical 
exhaustion,  it  curled  up  on  the  hot  sand  between 
them.  At  first,  when  they  moved  or  spoke,  the 
158 


Quick   Action 


little,  silky  head  was  quickly  lifted,  and  the  brown 
eyes  turned  alertly  from  one  to  the  other  of  the 
two  beings  most  beloved  on  earth.  But  presently 
only  the  whippy  tail  stirred  in  recognition  of  their 
voices.  And  finally  the  little  dog  slept  in  the  hot 
sunshine. 


XVIII 

FOR  a  long  while,  seated  on  either  side  of 
the    slumbering    puppy,    they    remained 
silent,    in    fascinated    contemplation    of 
what  they  had  rescued. 

Finally  Gray  said  slowly:  "It  may  seem  odd 
to  you  that  I  should  be  so  firm  and  uncompromis 
ing  concerning  my  right  to  a  very  small  dog 
which  may  be  duplicated  in  the  North  for  a  few 
dollars." 

She  lifted  her  brown  eyes  to  his,  then  let  them 
fall  again  on  the  dog. 

"The  reason  is  this,"  said  Gray.  "The  native 
dogs  I  dislike  intensely.  Dogs  imported  from  the 
North  soon  die  in  this  region.  But  this  little  pup 
was  evidently  born  on  shipboard  and  on  tropical 
seas.  I  think  he's  very  likely  to  survive  the  cli 
mate.  And  as  I  am  obliged  to  reside  here  for  a 
160 


Quick   Action 


while,  and  as  I  am  to  live  all  alone,  this  pup  is  a 
godsend  to  me." 

The  girl,  still  resting  her  eyes  on  the  sleeping 
puppy,  said  very  quietly: 

"I  do  not  desire  to  appear  selfish,  but  a  girl  is 
twice  as  lonely  as  a  man.  And  as  I  fortunately 
first  discovered  the  dog  it  seems  to  me  absolutely 
right  and  just  that  I  should  keep  him." 

Gray  sat  pouring  sand  through  his  fingers  and 
casting  an  occasional  oblique  glance  at  the  girl. 
She  was  not  sunburned,  so  she  must  be  a  recent 
arrival.  She  spoke  with  a  northern  accent,  which 
determined  her  origin. 

What  was  she  doing  down  here  on  this  absurd 
island?  Why  didn't  she  go  back  to  St.  Augustine 
where  she  belonged? 

"You  know,"  he  said  craftily,  "I  can  buy  a 
very  nice  little  dog  indeed  for  you  in  St.  Augus 
tine." 

"I  am  not  stopping  in  St.  Augustine.  Besides, 
there  are  only  horrid  little  lap-dogs  there." 

"Don't  you  like  lap-dogs — Pomms,  Pekinese, 
Maltese?"  he  inquired  persuasively. 

"No." 

"You  are  unlike  the  majority  of  girls  then. 
What  sort  of  dog  do  you  like?" 

"Setters,"  she  explained  with  decision. 
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Quick   Action 


And  as  he  bit  his  lip  in  annoyed  silence  she 
added : 

"Setter  puppies  are  what  I  adore." 

"I'm  sorry,"  he  said  bluntly. 

She  added,  not  heeding  his  observation:  "I  am 
mad  about  setter  puppies,  particularly  English 
setter  puppies.  And  when  I  try  to  realise  that  I 
discovered  a  shipwrecked  one  all  by  myself,  and 
rescued  it,  I  can  scarcely  believe  in  such  an  ador 
able  miracle." 

It  was  on  the  tip  of  his  tongue  to  offer  to  pur 
chase  the  pup,  but  a  quick  glance  at  the  girl 
checked  him.  She  was  evidently  perfectly  sin 
cere,  and  the  quality  of  her  was  unmistakable. 

Already,  within  these  few  minutes,  her  skin  had 
begun  to  burn  a  delicate  rose  tint  from  the  sun's 
fierce  reflection  on  the  white  sands.  Her  hair  was 
a  splendid  golden  brown,  her  eyes  darker,  or  per 
haps  the  long,  dark  lashes  made  them  seem  so. 
She  was  daintily  and  prettily  made,  head,  throat, 
shoulders,  and  limbs ;  she  wore  a  summer  gown  so 
waistless  and  limp  that  it  conformed  to  the  corset- 
less  fashions  in  vogue,  making  evident  here  and 
there  the  contours  of  her  slim  and  supple  figure. 

From  the  tip  of  her  white  shoe  to  the  tip  of  her 
hat  she  was  the  futile  and  exquisite  essence  of 
Gotham. 

162 


Quick   Action 


Gray  realised  it  because  he  lived  there  him 
self.  But  he  could  not  understand  where  all  her 
determination  and  obstinacy  came  from,  for  she 
seemed  so  young  and  inexperienced,  and  there  was 
about  her  a  childish  dewiness  of  eye  and  lip  that 
suggested  a  blossom's  fragrance. 

She  was  very  lovely;  and  that  was  all  very 
well  in  its  way,  but  Gray  had  come  down  there  on 
stern  business,  and  how  long  his  business  might 
last,  and  how  long  he  was  to  inhabit  a  palmetto 
bungalow  above  the  coquina  quarry  he  did  not 
know.  The  coquina  quarry  was  as  hot  as  the  in 
fernal  pit.  Also,  snakes  frequented  it. 

No  black  servant — promised  him  faithfully  in 
St.  Augustine  the  day  before — had  yet  arrived. 
A  few  supplies  had  been  sent  over  from  St.  Au 
gustine,  and  he  was  camping  in  his  little  house 
of  logs,  along  with  wood-ticks,  blue  lizards,  white 
ants,  gophers,  hornets,  and  several  chestnut-col 
ored  scorpions. 

"I  wouldn't  mind  yielding  the  dog  to  you,"  he 
admitted,  "if  I  were  not  so  horribly  lonely  on  this 
miserable  island.  When  evening  comes,  you,  will 
go  back  to  luxury  and  comfort  somewhere  or 
other,  with  dinner  awaiting  you  and  servants  to  do 
everything,  and  a  nice  bed  to  retire  to.  That's 
a  pleasant  picture,  isn't  it?" 
163 


Quick   Action 


"Very,"  she  replied,  with  a  slight  shrug. 

"Now,"  he  said,  "please  gaze  mentally  upon 
this  other  picture.  I  am  obliged  to  go  back  to  a 
shack  haunted  by  every  species  of  creature  that 
this  wretched  island  harbours. 

"There  will  be  no  dinner  for  me  except  what 
I  can  scoop  out  of  a  tin;  no  servants  to  do  one 
bally  thing  for  me ;  no  bed. 

"Listen  attentively,"  he  continued,  becoming 
slightly  dramatic  as  he  remembered  more  clearly 
the  horrors  of  the  preceding  night — his  first  on 
Ibis  Island.  "I  shall  go  into  that  devilish  bunga 
low  and  look  around  like  a  scared  dog,  standing 
very  carefully  in  the  exact  centre  of  the  room. 
And  what  will  be  the  first  object  that  my  un 
willing  eyes  encounter?  A  scorpion!  Perhaps 
two,  crawling  out  from  the  Spanish  moss  with 
which  the  chinks  of  that  miserable  abode  are 
stuffed.  I  shall  slay  it — or  them — as  the  case 
may  be.  Then  a  blue-tailed  lizard  will  frisk  over 
the  ceiling — or  perhaps  one  of  those  big,  heavy 
ones  with  blunt,  red  heads.  Doubtless  at  that 
same  instant  I  shall  discover  a  wood-tick  advanc 
ing  up  one  of  my  trousers'  legs.  Spiders  will  be 
gin  to  move  across  the  walls.  Perhaps  a  snake 
or  two  will  then  develop  from  some  shadowy 
corner." 

164 


Quick   Action 


He  waved  his  arm  impressively  and  pointed  at 
the  sleeping  puppy. 

"Under  such  circumstances,"  he  said  patheti 
cally,  "would  you  care  to  deprive  me  of  this  little 
companion  sent  by  Providence  for  me  to  rescue 
out  of  the  sea?" 

She,  too,  had  been  steadily  pouring  sand  be 
tween  her  white  fingers  during  the  moving  recital 
of  his  woes.  Now  she  looked  up,  controlling  a 
shudder. 

"Your  circumstances,  with  all  their  attendant 
horrors,  are  my  own,"  she  began.  "I,  also,  since 
last  night,  inhabit  a  picturesque  but  most  horrid 
bungalow  not  very  far  from  here;  and  every  one 
of  the  creatures  you  describe,  and  several  others 
also,  inhabit  it  with  me.  Do  you  wonder  I  want 
some  companionship?  Do  you  wonder  that  I  am 
inclined  to  cling  to  this  little  dog — whether  or 
not  it  may  seem  ill  bred  and  selfish  to  you?" 

He  said:  "I  suppose  all  the  houses  in  this 
latitude  harbour  tarantulas,  centipedes,  and  simi 
lar  things,  but  you  must  remember  that  you  do 
not  live  alone  as  I  do " 

"Yes,  I  do!" 

"What?" 

"Certainly.     I  engaged  two  black  servants  in  St. 
Augustine,  but  they  have  not  arrived,  and  I  was 
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Quick   Action 


obliged  to  remain  all  alone  in  that  frightful  place 
last  night." 

"That's  very  odd,"  he  said  uneasily.  "Where  is 
this  bungalow  of  yours?" 

She  started  to  speak,  checked  herself  as  at  a 
sudden  and  unpleasant  thought,  looked  up  at  him 
searchingly;  and  found  his  steel-grey  eyes  as 
searchingly  fixed  on  her. 

"Where  is  your  bungalow?"  she  asked,  watching 
him  intently. 

"Mine  is  situated  at  the  west  end  of  a  coquina 
quarry.  Where  is  yours?" 

"Mine,"  she  answered  unsteadily  but  defiantly, 
"is  situated  on  the  eastern  edge  of  a  coquina 
quarry." 

"Why  did  you  choose  a  quarry  bungalow?" 

"Why  did  you  choose  one?" 

"Because  the  coquina  quarry  happens  to  be 
long  to  me." 

"The  quarry,"  she  retorted,  "belongs  to  me." 

He  was  almost  too  disgusted  to  speak,  but  he 
contrived  to  say,  quietly  and  civilly: 

"You  are  Constance  Leslie,  are  you  not?" 

"Yes.  .  .  .  You  are  Johnson  Gray?" 

"Yes,  I  am,"  he  answered,  checking  his  exas 
peration  and  forcing  a  smile.     "It's  rather  odd, 
isn't  it — rather  unfortunate,  I'm  afraid." 
166 


Quick   Action 


"It  is  unfortunate  for  you,  Mr.  Gray,"  she  re 
turned  firmly.  "I'm  sorry — really  sorry  that  this 
long  journey  is  in  vain." 

"So  am  I,"  he  said,  with  lips  compressed. 

For  a  few  moments  they  sat  very  still,  not  look 
ing  at  each  other. 

Presently  he  said:  "It  was  a  fool  of  a  will. 
He  was  a  most  disagreeable  old  man." 

"/  never  saw  him." 

"Nor  I.  They  say  he  was  a  terror.  But  he 
had  a  sense  of  humour — a  grim  and  acrid  one — 
the  cynic's  idea  of  wit.  No  doubt  he  enjoyed 
it.  No  doubt  he  is  enjoying  this  very  scene  be 
tween  you  and  me — if  he's  anywhere  within  sight 
or  hearing 

"Don't  say  that!"  she  exclaimed,  almost  vio 
lently.  "It  is  horrible  enough  on  this  island  with 
out  hinting  of  ghosts." 

"Ghosts?  Of  course  there  are  ghosts.  But 
I'd  rather  have  my  bungalow  full  of  'em  than  full 
of  scorpions." 

"We  differ,"  she  said  coldly. 

Silence  fell  again,  and  again  was  broken  by 
Gray. 

"Certainly  the  old  fellow  had  a  sense  of  hu 
mour,"  he  insisted ;  "the  will  he  left  was  one  huge 
joke  on  every  relative  who  had  expectations. 
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Imagine  all  that  buzzard  family  of  his  who  got 
nothing  to  amount  to  anything ;  and  all  those  dis 
tant  relatives  who  expected  nothing  and  got  al 
most  everything!" 

"Do  you  think  that  was  humourous?" 

"Yes;  don't  you?  And  I  think  what  he  did 
about  you  and  me  was  really  very  funny.  Don't 
you?" 

"Why  is  it  funny  for  a  very  horrid  old  man  to 
make  a  will  full  of  grim  jokes  and  jests,  and  take 
that  occasion  to  tell  everybody  exactly  what  he 
thinks  of  everybody?" 

"He  said  nothing  disagreeable  about  us  that 
I  recollect,"  remarked  Gray,  laughing. 

Pouring  sand  between  her  fingers,  she  said: 

"I  remember  very  well  how  he  mentioned  us. 
He  said  that  he  had  never  seen  either  one  of  us, 
and  was  glad  of  it.  He  said  that  as  I  was  an  or 
phan  with  no  money,  and  that  as  you  were  simi 
larly  situated,  and  that  as  neither  you  nor  I  had 
brains  enough  to  ever  make  any,  he  would  leave 
his  coquina  quarry  to  that  one  of  us  who  had 
brains  enough  to  get  here  first  and  stake  the  claim. 
Do  you  call  that  an  agreeable  manner  of  mak 
ing  a  bequest?" 

Gray  laughed  easily:     "/  don't  care  what  he 
thought  about  my  intellectual  capacity." 
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"I  suppose  that  I  don't  either.  And  anyway 
the  bequest  may  be  valuable." 

"There  is  no  doubt  about  that,"  said  Gray. 

She  let  her  brown  eyes  rest  thoughtfully  on 
the  ocean. 

"I  think,"  she  said,  "that  I  shall  dispose  of 
it  at  once." 

"The  dog?"  he  asked  politely. 

Her  pretty,  hostile  eyes  met  his: 

"The  quarry,"  she   replied  calmly. 

"Good  Lord!"  he  exclaimed.  "Do  you  think 
also  that  you  arrived  at  the  quarry  before  I  ar 
rived?" 

"You  will  find  my  stake  with  its  written  no 
tice  sticking  in  the  sand  on  the  eastern  edge  of 
the  quarry,  about  a  hundred  yards  south  of  my 
bungalow !" 

"My  notice  is  very  carefully  staked  on  the 
western  edge  of  the  quarry  about  the  same  dis 
tance  from  my  bungalow,"  he  said.  "I  placed  it 
there  yesterday  evening." 

"I  also  placed  my  notice  there  yesterday  even- 
ing!" 

"By  what  train  did  you  come?" 

"By  the  Verbena  Special.  It  arrived  at  St. 
Augustine  yesterday  at  four  o'clock  in  the  after 
noon." 

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"I  also  came  on  that  train." 

"I,"  she  said,  "waited  in  St.  Augustine  only 
long  enough  to  telephone  for  servants,  and  then 
I  jumped  into  a  victoria  and  drove  over  the  cause 
way  to  the  eastern  end  of  the  quarry." 

"I  did  exactly  the  same,"  he  insisted,  "only  I 
drove  to  the  western  end  of  the  quarry.  What 
time  did  you  set  your  notice?" 

"I  don't  know  exactly.  It  was  just  about 
dusk." 

"It  was  just  about  dusk  when  I  drove  in  my 
stake !" 

After  a  moment's  idling  in  the  sand  with  her 
slim  fingers,  she  looked  up  at  him  a  trifle  pale. 

"I  suppose  this  means  a  lawsuit." 

"I'm  afraid  it  does." 

"I'm  sorry.  If  I  wasn't  in  such  desperate  need 
of  money—  — "  But  she  said  no  more,  and  he 
also  remained  silent  for  a  while.  Then: 

"I  shall  write  to  my  attorney  to  come  down," 
he  said  soberly.  "You  had  better  do  the  same 
this  evening." 

She  nodded. 

"It's  got  to  be  settled,  of  course,"  he  continued ; 
"because  I'm  too  poor  to  concede  the  quarry  to 


you." 


'It  is  that  way  with  me  also.     I  do  not  like 
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to  appear  so  selfish  to  you,  but  what  am  I  to  do, 
Mr.  Gray?" 

"What  am  /  to  do?  I  honestly  believe  that  I 
staked  the  quarry  before  you  did.  .  .  .  And  my 
financial  situation  does  not  permit  me  to  relin 
quish  my  claim  on  the  quarry." 

"What  a  horrid  will  that  was !"  she  exclaimed, 
the  quick  tears  of  vexation  springing  into  her 
brown  eyes.  "If  you  knew  how  hard  I've  worked, 
Mr.  Gray — all  these  years  having  nothing  that 
other  girls  have — being  obliged  to  work  my  way 
through  college,  and  then  take  a  position  as  gov 
erness — and  just  as  it  seemed  that  relief  was  in 
sight — you  come  into  sight ! — you ! — and  you  even 
try  to  take  away  my  little  dog — the  only  thing  I 
— I  ever  really  cared  for  since  I  have — have  been 
alone  in  the  world — 

Gray  sprang  up  nervously:  "I'm  sorry — ter 
ribly  sorry  for  you !  You  may  keep  the  dog  any 
way." 

She  had  turned  away  her  face  sharply  as  the 
quick  tears  started.  Now  she  looked  around  at 
him  in  unfeigned  surprise. 

"But— what  will  you  do?" 

"Oh,  I  can  stand  being  alone.  I  don't  mind. 
There's  no  doubt  about  it;  you  must  have  the 

dog He  glanced  down  at  the  little  crea- 

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ture  and  caught  his  breath  sharply  as  the  puppy 
opened  one  eye  and  wagged  its  absurd  tail  feebly. 

The  girl  rose  lightly  and  gracefully  from  the 
sand,  refusing  his  assistance,  and  stood  looking 
down  at  the  puppy.  The  little  thing  was  on  its 
clumsy  feet,  wagging  and  wriggling  with  happi 
ness,  and  gazing  up  adoringly  from  Gray  to  Con 
stance  Leslie. 

The  girl  looked  at  the  dog,  then  at  Gray. 

"It — it  seems  too  cruel,"  she  said.  "I  can't 
bear  to  take  him  away  from  you." 

"Oh,  that's  all  right.  I'll  get  on  very  well 
alone." 

"You  are  generous.  You  are  very  generous. 
But  after  the  way  you  expressed  yourself  con 
cerning  the  dog,  I  don't  feel  that  I  can  possibly 
take  him." 

"You  really  must.  I  don't  blame  you  at  all  for 
falling  in  love  with  him.  Besides,  one  adores 
what  one  rescues,  above  everything  in  the  world." 

"But — but  I  thought  that  you  thought  you 
had  rescued  him?"  she  faltered. 

"It  was  a  close  call.  I  think  perhaps  that  you 
arrived  just  a  fraction  of  a  second  sooner  than 
I  did." 

"Do  you  really?  Or  do  you  say  that  to  be  kind? 
Besides,  I  am  not  at  all  sure.  It  is  perfectly  pos- 
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sible — even,  perhaps,  probable  that  you  saw  him 
before  I  did." 

"No,  I  don't  think  so.  I  think  he's  your  dog, 
Miss  Leslie.  I  surrender  all  claim  to  him — 

"No  !  I  can  not  permit  you  to  do  such  a  thing ! 
Forgive  me.  I  was  excited  and  a  little  vexed.  .  .  . 
I  know  you  would  be  very  unhappy  if  I  took  the 
little  thing " 

"Please  take  him.  I  do  love  him  already,  but 
that  is  why  it  gives  me  a  p-p-peculiar  pleasure  to 
relinquish  all  claims  in  y-your  favour." 

"Thank  you.  It  is — is  charming  of  you — ex 
ceedingly  nice  of  you — but  how  can  I  accept  such 
a  real  sacrifice?  .  .  .  You  would  be  perfectly 
wretched  to-night  without  him." 

"So  would  you,  Miss  Leslie." 

"I  shall  be  wretched  anyway.  So  it  doesn't 
really  matter." 

"It  does  matter!  If  this  little  dog  can  allevi 
ate  your  unhappiness  in  the  slightest  degree,  I 
insist  most  firmly  that  you  take  him !" 

The  girl  stood  irresolute,  lifted  her  brown  eyes 
to  his,  lowered  them,  and  gazed  longingly  at  the 

'puppy- 

"Do  you  suppose  he  will  follow  me?" 
"Try !" 

So  she  walked  one  way  and  Gray  started  in 
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the  opposite  direction,  and  the  bewildered  puppy, 
who  at  first  supposed  it  was  all  in  play,  dashed 
from  one  back  to  the  other,  until  the  widening 
distance  between  them  perplexed  and  finally  began 
to  trouble  him. 

Nevertheless,  he  continued  to  run  back  and 
forth  from  Gray  to  Constance  Leslie  as  long  as 
his  rather  wavering  legs  held  out.  Then,  un 
able  to  decide,  he  stood  panting  midway  between 
them,  whining  at  moments,  until,  unable  to  un 
derstand  or  endure  the  spectacle  of  his  two  best 
beloveds  vanishing  in  opposite  directions,  he  put 
up  his  nose  and  howled. 

Then  both  best  beloveds  came  back  running, 
and  Constance  snatched  him  to  her  breast  and 
covered  him  with  caresses. 

"What  on  earth  are  we  to  do?"  she  said  in  con 
sternation.  "We  nearly  broke  his  heart  that 
time." 

"/  don't  know  what  to  do,"  he  admitted,  much 
perplexed.  "This  pup  seems  to  be  impartial  in 
his  new-born  affections." 

"I  thought,"  she  said,  with  an  admirable  effort 
at  self-denial,  "that  he  rather  showed  a  prefer 
ence  for  you!" 

"Why?" 

"Because  when  he  was  sitting  there  howling  his 
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little  heart  out,  he  seemed  to  look  toward  you  a 
little  oftener  than  he  gazed  in  my  direction." 

Gray  rose  nobly  to  the  self-effacing  level  of 
his  generous  adversary: 

"No,  the  balance  was,  if  anything,  in  your 
favour.  I'm  very  certain  that  he  will  be  happier 
with  you.  T-take  him!" 

The  girl  buried  her  pretty  face  in  the  puppy's 
coat  as  though  it  had  been  a  fluffy  muff. 

"What   a   pity,"   she  said,  in  a  muffled  voice, 

"that  he  is  compelled  to  make  a  choice.     It  will 

break  his  heart ;  I  know  it  will.     He  is  too  young." 

"He'll  very  soon  forget  me,  once  he  is   alone 

with  you  in  your  bungalow." 

The  girl  shook  her  head  and  stood  caressing 
the  puppy.  The  soft,  white  hand,  resting  on  the 
dog's  head,  fascinated  Gray. 

"Perhaps,"  he  ventured,  "I  had  better  walk  as 
far  as  your  bungalow  with  you.  ...  It  may 
spare  the  dog  a  certain  amount  of  superficial 
anguish." 

She  nodded,  dreamy-eyed  there  in  the  sunshine. 
And  of  what  she  might  be  thinking  he  could  form 
no  idea. 


XIX 

HE    fell    into    step    beside    her,    and    they 
walked  up  from  the  little  cover  through 
the    beach-grapes    and    out    among   the 
scrubby   dunes,   where   in   the   heated   silence   the 
perfume  of  sweet-bay  and  pines  mingled  with  the 
odour  of  the  sea. 

Everywhere  the  great  sulphur-coloured  butter 
flies  were  flying,  making  gorgeous  combinations 
with  the  smaller,  orange  butterflies  and  the  great, 
velvet-winged  Palamedes  swallowtail. 

Lizards  frisked  and  raced  away  before  them, 
emerald  tinted,  green  with  sky-blue  tails,  grey 
and  red;  the  little  gophers  scurried  into  their 
burrows  along  the  tangled  hammock's  edges.  Over 
the  palm-trees'  feathery  crests  sailed  a  black  vul 
ture,  its  palmated  wing-tips  spread  like  inky 
fingers  against  the  blue.  Somewhere  in  the  saw- 
grass  a  bittern  boomed  and  boomed;  and  the  sea 
gulls'  clamour  rang  incessantly  above  the  thunder 
of  the  surf. 

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"I  wonder,"  she  murmured,  "whether  my  sun 
burn  makes  me  drowsy." 

"It's  the  climate.  You'll  feel  sleepy  for  a  week 
before  you  are  acclimated,"  he  said.  .  .  .  "Why 
don't  you  put  down  the  puppy  and  let  him  fol 
low?" 

She  did  so ;  and  the  little  creature  frisked  and 
leaped  and  padded  joyously  about  among  the  bay- 
berry  bushes,  already  possessed  with  the  canine 
determination  to  investigate  all  the  alluring  smells 
in  the  world,  and  miss  none  of  them. 

After. a  little  while  they  arrived  at  the  bun 
galow  which  Constance  had  chosen.  The  girl 
pushed  open  the  unlocked  door;  the  puppy 
pranced  in  like  a  diminutive  hobby-horse,  flushed 
a  big  lizard,  and  went  into  fits  of  excitement  till 
the  solitary  cabin  rang  with  his  treble  barking. 

They  watched  him  through  the  doorway,  laugh 
ingly  ;  then  Gray  looked  at  the  claim  notice  stuck 
upright  in  the  sand.  Presently  he  walked  to  the 
edge  of  the  coquina  quarry  and  looked  down  into 
it. 

Thousands  of  dollars'  worth  of  the  shell  deposit 
lay  already  exposed.  There  were  great  strata  of 
it ;  ledges,  shelves,  vast  masses  in  every  direction. 
The  quarry  had  been  worked  very  little,  and  that 
little  had  been  accomplished  stupidly.  Either  in 
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the  rough,  or  merely  as  lumps  of  conglomerate  for 
crushing,  the  coquina  in  sight  alone  was  very, 
very  valuable.  There  could  be  no  doubt  of  that. 

Also,  he  understood  that  the  strata  deposited 
there  continued  at  least  for  half  a  mile  to  the 
westward,  where  his  own  bungalow  marked  its 
probable  termination. 

He  turned  after  a  few  minutes'  inspection,  and 
walked  slowly  back  to  where  Constance  was  stand 
ing  by  the  open  door.  A  slight  constraint, 
amounting  almost  to  embarrassment,  ensued  for  a 
few  minutes,  but  the  puppy  dissipated  it  when  he 
leaped  at  a  butterfly,  fell  on  his  nose  with  a 
thump,  and  howled  dismally  until  reassured  by 
his  anxious  foster-parents,  who  caught  him  up  and 
generously  passed  him  to  each  other,  petting  him 
vigourously. 

Twice  Gray  said  good-bye  to  Constance  Leslie 
and  started  to  go  on  toward  his  own  bungalow, 
but  the  puppy  invariably  began  a  frantic  series  of 
circles  embracing  them  both,  and  he  had  to  come 
back  to  keep  the  dog  from  the  demoralisation  of 
utter  exhaustion. 

"You  know,"  he  said,  "this  is  going  to  be  awk 
ward.  I  believe  that  dog  thinks  we  are  mar — 
thinks  we  are  sister  and  brother.  Don't  you?" 

She  replied  with  a  slight  flush  on  her  fair  face, 
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that  the  dog  undoubtedly  cherished  some  such 
idea. 

"Take  him  inside,"  said  Gray  firmly.  "Then  I'll 
beat  it." 

So  she  took  the  puppy  inside  and  closed  the 
door,  with  a  smiling  nod  of  adieu  to  Gray.  But 
he  had  not  gone  very  far  when  he  heard  her  clear, 
far  call ;  and,  turning,  saw  her  beckon  frantically. 

Back  he  came  at  top  speed. 

"Oh,  dear,"  she  exclaimed.  "Oh,  dear!  He's 
tearing  'round  and  'round  the  room  moaning  and 
whining  and  barking.  I'm  very  certain  he  will 
have  fits  if  you  don't  speak  to  him." 

Gray  opened  the  door  cautiously,  and  the  little 
dog  came  out,  projected  like  a  bolt  from  a  cata 
pult,  fairly  flinging  his  quivering  little  body  into 
Gray's  arms. 

The  reunion  was  elaborate  and  mutually  satis 
fying.  Constance  furtively  touched  her  brown 
eyes  with  a  corner  of  her  handkerchief. 

"What  on  earth  are  we  to  do?"  she  asked,  un- 
feignedly  affected.  "I  would  give  him  to  you  in 
a  minute  if  you  think  he  would  be  contented  with 
out  me." 

"We  can  try  it." 

So  Constance  started  westward,  across  the 
dunes,  and  Gray  went  into  the  bungalow  with  the 
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Quick   Action 


dog.  But  it  required  only  a  second  or  two  to 
convince  him  that  it  wouldn't  do,  and  he  opened 
the  door  and  called  frantically  to  Constance. 

"There  is  no  use  in  trying  that  sort  of  thing," 
he  admitted,  when  Constance  hastened  back  to  a 
touching  reunion  with  the  imprisoned  dog. 
"Strategy  is  our  only  hope.  I'll  sit  here  on  the 
threshold  with  you,  and  as  soon  as  he  goes  to  sleep 
I'll  slink  away." 

So  side  by  side  they  seated  themselves  on  the 
sandy  threshold  of  the  bungalow,  and  the  little 
dog,  happy  and  contented,  curled  up  on  the  floor 
of  the  room,  tucked  his  blunt  muzzle  into  his  flank, 
and  took  a  series  of  naps  with  one  eye  always 
open.  He  was  young,  but  suspicion  had  already 
done  its  demoralising  work  with  him,  and  he  in 
tended  to  keep  at  least  one  eye  on  his  best  be 
loveds. 

She  in  her  fresh  and  clinging  gown,  with  the 
first  delicate  sunmask  tinting  her  unaccustomed 
skin,  sat  silent  and  distrait,  her  idle  fingers  linked 
in  her  lap.  And,  glancing  askance  at  her  now 
and  then,  the  droop  of  her  under  lip  seemed  to 
him  pathetic,  like  that  of  a  tired  child  in  trouble. 

When  he  was  not  looking  at  her  he  was  im 
mersed  in  perplexed  cogitation.  The  ownership 
of  the  dog  he  had  already  settled  in  his  mind ;  the 
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ownership  of  the  quarry  he  had  supposed  he  had 
settled. 

Therefore,  why  was  he  so  troubled  about  it? 
Why  was  he  so  worried  about  her,  wondering  what 
she  would  do  in  the  matter? 

The  only  solution  left  seemed  to  lie  in  a  re 
course  to  the  law — unless — unless — 

But  he  couldn't — he  simply  couldn't,  merely 
for  a  sentimental  impulse,  give  up  to  a  stranger 
what  he  honestly  considered  an  inheritance.  That 
would  be  carrying  sentimentalism  too  far. 

And  yet — and  yet!  He  needed  the  inheritance 
desperately.  Matters  financial  had  gone  all  wrong 
with  him.  How  could  he  turn  his  back  on  offered 
salvation  just  because  a  youthful  and  pretty  girl 
also  required  a  financial  lift  in  a  cold-blooded 
and  calculating  world? 

And  yet — and  yet !  He  would  sleep  over  it, 
of  course.  But  he  honestly  saw  no  prospect  of 
changing  his  opinion  concerning  the  ownership  of 
the  quarry. 

As  he  sat  there  biting  a  stem  of  sweet-bay  and 
listening  to  the  cardinals  piping  from  the  forest, 
he  looked  down  into  the  heated  coquina  pit. 

A  snake  was  coiled  up  on  one  of  the  ledges, 
basking. 

"Miss  Leslie !" 

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She  lifted  her  head  and  straightened  her  droop 
ing  shoulders,  looking  at  him  from  eyes  made 
drowsy  and  beautiful  by  the  tropic  heat. 

"I  only  wanted  to  say,"  he  began  gravely, 
"that  it  is  not  safe  for  you  to  go  into  the  quarry 
alone — in  case  you  had  any  such  intention." 

"Why?" 

"There  are  snakes  there.  Do  you  see  that  one? 
Well,  he's  harmless,  I  think — a  king-snake,  if  I 
am  not  mistaken.  But  it's  a  good  place  for  rat 
tlers." 

"Then  you  should  be  careful,  too." 

"Oh,  I'm  careful  enough,  but  you  might  not 
know  when  to  be  on  your  guard.  This  island  is 
a  snaky  one.  It's  famous  for  its  diamond-back 
rattlers  and  the  size  of  them.  Their  fangs  are 
an  inch  long,  and  it  usually  means  death  to  be 
struck  by  one  of  them." 

The  girl  nodded  thoughtfully. 

He  said  with  a  new  anxiety:  "As  a  matter  of 
fact,  you  really  ought  not  to  be  down  here  all 
alone." 

"I  know  it.  But  it  meant  a  race  for  owner 
ship,  and  I  had  to  come  at  a  minute's  notice." 

"You  should  have  brought  a  maid." 

"My  dear  Mr.  Gray,  I  have  no  maid." 

"Oh,  I  forgot,"  he  muttered — "but,  somehow, 
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Quick   Action 


you  look   as  though  you  had  been  born  to  sev 
eral." 

"I  am  the  daughter  of  a  very  poor  professor." 

He  fidgetted  with  his  sweet-bay  twig,  consider 
ing  the  aromatic  leaves  with  a  troubled  and  con 
centrated  scowl. 

"You  know,"  he  said,  "this  wretched  island  is 
celebrated  for  its  unpleasant  fauna.  Scorpions 
and  wood-ticks  are  numerous.  The  sting  of  the 
one  is  horribly  painful,  and  might  be  dangerous ; 
the  villainous  habits  of  the  other  might  throw 
you  into  a  fever." 

"But  what  can  I  do?"  she  inquired  calmly. 

"There  are  other  kinds  of  snakes,  too,"  he 
went  on  with  increasing  solicitude  for  this  girl 
for  whom,  suddenly,  he  began  to  consider  himself 
responsible.  "There's  a  vicious  snake  called  a 
moccasin ;  and  he  won't  get  out  of  your  way  or 
warn  you.  And  there's  a  wicked  little  serpent 
with  rings  of  black,  scarlet,  and  yellow  around  his 
body.  He  pretends  to  be  harmless,  but  if  he  gets 
your  finger  into  his  mouth  he'll  chew  it  full  of  a 
venom  which  is  precisely  the  same  sort  of  venom 
as  that  of  the  deadly  East  Indian  cobra." 

"But — what  can  I  do?"  she  repeated  pitifully. 
"If  I  go  to  St.  Augustine  and  leave  you  here  in 
possession,  it  might  invalidate  my  claim." 
183 


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He  was  silent,  knowing  no  more  about  the  law 
than  did  she,  and  afraid  to  deny  her  tentative  as 
sertion. 

"If  it  lay  with  me,"  he  said,  "I'd  call  a  truce 
until  you  could  go  to  St.  Augustine  and  return 
again  with  the  proper  people  to  look  out  for 
you." 

"Even  if  you  were  kind  enough  to  do  that,  I 
could  not  afford  even  a  servant  under  present — 
and  unexpected — conditions." 

"Why?" 

"Because  it  has  suddenly  developed  that  I  shall 
be  obliged  to  engage  a  lawyer.  And  I  had  not 
expected  that." 

He  reddened  to  his  hair  but  said  nothing.  After 
a  while  the  girl  looked  over  her  shoulder.  The 
puppy  slept,  this  time  with  both  eyes  closed. 

When  she  turned  again  to  Gray,  he  nodded  his 
comprehension  and  rose  to  his  feet  cautiously. 

"I'm  going  to  take  a  walk  on  the  beach  and 
think  this  thing  all  out,"  he  whispered,  taking  the 
slim,  half-offered  hand  in  adieu.  "Don't  go  out 
in  the  scrub  after  sun-down.  Rattlers  move  then. 
Don't  go  near  any  swamp;  moccasins  are  the 
colour  of  sun-baked  mud,  and  you  can't  see  them. 
Don't  touch  any  pretty  little  snake  marked  scar 
let,  black,  and  yellow " 

184 


'Quick   Action 


"How  absurd!"  she  whispered.  "As  though  I 
were  likely  to  fondle  snakes!" 

"I'm  terribly  worried  about  you,"  he  insisted, 
retaining  her  hand. 

"Please  don't  be." 

"How  can  I  help  it — what  with  these  bunga 
lows  full  of  scorpions  and 

"Yours  is,  too,"  she  said  anxiously.  "You  will 
be  very  careful,  won't  you?" 

"Yes,  of  course.  .  .  .  I'm — I'm  uncertain 
about  you.  That's  what  is  troubling  me 

"Please  don't  bother  about  me.  I've  had  to 
look  out  for  myself  for  years." 

"Have  you?"  he  said,  almost  tenderly.  Then 
he  drew  a  quick,  determined  breath. 

"You'll  be  careful,  won't  you?" 

"Yes." 

"Are  you  armed?" 

"I  have  a  shot-gun  inside." 

"That's  all  right.  Don't  open  your  door  to 
any  stranger.  .  .  .  You  know  I  simply  hate  to 
leave  you  alone  this  way — 

"But  I  have  the  dog,"  she  reminded  him,  with 
a  pretty  flush  of  gratitude. 

He  had  retained  her  hand  longer  than  the 
easiest  convention  required  or  permitted.  So  he 
released  it,  hesitated,  then  with  a  visible  effort 
185 


Quick   Action 


he  turned  on  his  heel  and  strode  away  westward 
across  the  scrub. 

The  sun  hung  low  behind  the  tall,  parti-col 
oured  shaft  of  the  Light  House,  towering  smooth 
and  round  high  above  the  forest. 

He  looked  up  at  Ibis  Light,  at  the  circling 
buzzards  above  it,  then  walked  on,  scarcely  know 
ing  where  he  was  going,  until  he  walked  into  the 
door  of  his  own  bungalow,  and  several  large  spi 
ders  scattered  into  flight  across  the  floor. 

"There's  no  use,"  he  said  aloud  to  an  audience 
of  lizards  clinging  to  the  silvery  bark  of  the  log- 
room.  "I  can't  take  that  quarry.  I  can't  do  it 
— whether  it  belongs  to  me  or  not.  How  can  a 
big,  strong,  lumbering  young  man  do  a  thing  like 
that?  No.  No.  No!" 

He  picked  up  a  pencil  and  a  sheet  of  paper: 

"Oh,  Lord!  I  really  do  need  the  money,  but  I 
can't  do  it." 

And  he  wrote: 

DEAR  Miss  LESLIE: 

You  arrived  on  the  scene  before  I  did.  I  am  now 
convinced  of  this.  I  shall  not  dispute  the  ownership 
of  the  quarry.  It  is  yours.  This  statement  over  my 
signature  is  your  guarantee  that  I  shall  never  inter 
fere  with  your  title  to  the  coquina  quarry  on  Ibis 
Island. 

186 


Quick   Action 


So  now  I've  got  to  return  to  New  York  and  go  to 
work.  I'm  going  across  to  Augustine  in  a  few 
moments;  and  while  I'm  there  I'll  engage  a  white 
woman  as  companion  for  you,  and  a  white  servant, 
and  have  them  drive  over  at  once  so  they  will  reach 
your  bungalow  before  evening.  With  undisputed 
title  to  the  quarry,  you  can  easily  afford  their  wages. 

Good-bye.  I  wish  you  every  happiness  and  suc 
cess.  Please  give  my  love  to  the  dog. 

Yours  very  truly, 

JOHNSON  GRAY. 

"It's  the  only  way  out  of  it,"  he  muttered.  "I'll 
leave  it  with  her  and  bolt  before  she  reads  it. 
There  is  nothing  else  to  do,  absolutely  nothing." 

As  he  came  out  of  his  cabin,  the  sun  hung  low 
and  red  above  the  palm  forest,  and  a  few  bats 
were  already  flying  like  tiny  black  devils  above 
the  scrub. 

There  was  a  strip  of  beach  near  his  cabin,  and 
he  went  down  to  it  and  began  to  tramp  up  and 
down  with  a  vague  idea  of  composing  himself  so 
that  he  might  accomplish  what  he  had  to  do  grace 
fully,  gaily,  and  with  no  suspicion  of  striking  an 
attitude  for  gods  and  men  to  admire  his  moral 
resignation  and  his  heroic  renunciation. 

No;  he'd  do  the  thing  lightly,  smilingly,  de 
termined  that  she  should  not  think  that  it  was  a 
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Quick    Action 


sacrifice.  No;  she  must  believe  that  a  sense  of 
fairness  alone  moved  him  to  an  honest  recognition 
of  her  claims.  He  must  make  it  plain  to  her 
that  he  really  believed  she  had  arrived  at  the 
quarry  before  he  had. 

And  so  he  meant  to  leave  her  the  letter,  say 
good-bye,  and  go. 

When  this  was  all  settled  in  his  mind  he  looked 
at  the  ocean  very  soberly,  then  turned  his  back 
on  the  Atlantic  and  walked  back  to  his  cabin  to 
gather  up  his  effects. 

As  he  approached  the  closed  door  a  desolate 
howl  from  the  interior  greeted  him:  he  sprang  to 
the  door  and  flung  it  open ;  and  the  puppy  rushed 
into  his  arms. 

Then,  pinned  to  the  scorpion-infested  wall,  he 
saw  a  sheet  of  writing,  and  he  read : 

DEAR  MR.  GRAY: 

He  woke  up  and  howled  for  you.  It  was  too 
tragic  for  me.  I  love  him  but  I  give  him  to  you.  I 
give  the  quarry  to  you,  also.  Under  the  circum 
stances  it  would  be  impossible  for  me  to  enjoy  it, 
even  if  the  law  awarded  it  to  me.  Nobody  could  ever 
really  know  which  one  of  us  first  arrived  and  staked 
the  claim.  No  doubt  you  did. 

I  am  sorry  I  came  into  your  life  and  made  trouble 
for  you  and  for  the  puppy. 
188 


Quick   A  ction 


So  I  leave  you  in  peaceful  possession.  It  really 
is  a  happiness  for  me  to  do  it. 

I  am  going  North  at  once.  Good-bye;  and  please 
give  my  love  to  the  dog.  Poor  little  darling,  he 
thought  we  both  stood  in  loco  parentis.  But  he'll  get 
over  his  grief  for  me. 

Yours  truly, 

CONSTANCE  LESLIE. 

The  puppy  at  his  feet  was  howling  uncom- 
forted  for  the  best  beloved  who  was  so  strangely 
missing  from  the  delightful  combination  which  he 
had  so  joyously  accepted  in  loco  parentis. 


XX 

GRAY  gathered  the  dog  into  his  arms  and 
strode  swiftly  out  into  the  sunshot,  pur 
ple  light  of  early  evening. 

"What  a  girl !"  he  muttered  to  himself.  "What 
a  girl!  What  a  corking  specimen  of  her  sex!" 
Presently  he  came  in  sight  of  her,  and  the 
puppy  scrambled  violently  until  set  down.  Then 
he  bolted  for  Constance  Leslie,  and  it  was  only 
when  the  little  thing  leaped  frantically  upon  her 
that  she  turned  with  a  soft,  breathless  little  cry. 
And  saw  Gray  coming  toward  her  out  of  the  rose 
and  golden  sunset. 

Neither  spoke  as  he  came  up  and  looked  into 

her  brown  eyes  and  saw  the  traces  of  tears  there 

still.     The  puppy  leaped  deliriously  about  them. 

And  for  a  long  while  her  slim  hands  lay  limply  in 

190 


Quick   Action 


his.  He  looked  at  the  ocean;  she  at  the  darken 
ing  forest. 

And  after  a  little  while  he  drew  the  note  from 
his  pocket. 

"I  had  written  this  when  I  found  yours,"  he 
said.  And  he  held  it  for  her  while  she  read  it, 
bending  nearer  in  the  dim,  rosy  light. 

After  she  read  it  she  took  it  from  him  gently, 
folded  it,  and  slipped  it  into  the  bosom  of  her 
gown. 

Neither  said  anything.  One  of  her  hands  still 
remained  in  his,  listlessly  at  first — then  the  fingers 
crisped  as  his  other  arm  encircled  her. 

They  were  both  gazing  vaguely  at  the  ocean 
now.  Presently  they  moved  slowly  toward  it 
through  the  fragrant  dusk.  Her  hair,  loosened  a 
little,  brushed  his  sun-burned  cheek. 

And  around  them  gambolled  the  wise  little  dog, 
no  longer  apprehensive,  but  unutterably  content 
with  what  the  God  of  all  good  little  doggies  had 
so  mercifully  sent  to  him  in  loco  parentis. 


"That,"  said  the  novelist,  "is  another  slice  of 
fact  which  would  never  do   for  fiction.     Besides 
I  once  read  a  story  somewhere  or  other  about  a 
dog  bringing  two  people  together." 
191 


Quick   Action 


"The  theme,"  I  observed,  "is  thousands  of  years 
old." 

"That's  the  trouble  with  all  truth,"  nodded 
Duane.  "It's  old  as  Time  itself,  and  needs  a  new 
suit  of  clothes  every  time  it  is  exhibited  to  in 
struct  people." 

"What  with  new  manners,  new  fashions,  new 
dances,  and  the  moral  levelling  itself  gradually  to 
the  level  of  the  unmoral,"  said  Stafford,  "nobody 
on  the  street  would  turn  around  to  look  at  the 
naked  truth  in  these  days." 

"Truth  must  be  fashionably  gowned  to  at 
tract,"  I  admitted. 

"We  of  the  eccentric  nobility  understand  that," 
said  the  little  Countess  Athalie,  glancing  out  of 
the  window;  and  to  me  she  added:  "Lean  over 
and  see  whether  they  have  stationed  a  policeman 
in  front  of  the  Princess  Zimbamzim's  residence." 

I  went  out  on  the  balcony. and  glanced  down 
the  block.  "Yes,"  I  said. 

"Poor  old  Princess,"  murmured  the  girl.  "She 
detests  moving." 

"All  frauds  do,"  remarked  Duane. 

"She  isn't  a  fraud,"  said  Athalie  quietly. 

Our  silence  indicated  our  surprise.  After  a 
few  moments  the  girl  added: 

"Whatever  else  she  may  be  she  is  not  a  fraud 
192 


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in  her  profession.  I  think  I  had  better  give  you 
an  example  of  her  professional  probity.  It  in 
terested  me  considerably  as  I  followed  it  in  my 
crystal.  She  knew  all  the  while  that  I  was  watch 
ing  her  as  well  as  the  very  people  she  herself 
was  watching;  and  once  or  twice  she  looked  up 
at  me  out  of  my  crystal  and  grinned." 

"Can  she  see  us  now?"  I  inquired  uneasily. 

"No." 

"Why  not?"  asked  Duane. 

"I  shall  not  tell  you  why." 

"Not  that  I  care  whether  she  sees  me  or  not," 
he  added. 

"Do  you  care,  Harry,  whether  I  see  you  occa 
sionally  in  my  crystal?"  smiled  Athalie. 

Duane  flushed  brightly  and  reminded  her  that 
she  was  too  honourable  to  follow  the  movements 
of  her  personal  friends  unless  requested  to  do  so 
by  them. 

"That  is  quite  true,"  rejoined  the  girl,  simply. 
"But  once  I  saw  you  when  I  did  not  mean  to." 

"Well?"  he  demanded,  redder  still. 

"You  were  merely  asleep  in  your  own  bed,"  she 
said,  laughing  and  accepting  a  lighted  match 
from  me.  Then  as  the  fragrant  thread  of  smoke 
twisted  in  ghostly  ringlets  across  her  smooth 
young  cheeks  she  settled  back  among  her  cushions. 
193 


XXI 

THIS,"   she   said,   "will  acquaint  you  in   a 
measure  with  the  trustworthiness  of  the 
Princess  Zimbamzim.     And,  if  the  police 
man  in  front  of  her  house  could  hear  what  I  am 
going  to  tell  you,  he'd  never  remain  there  while  his 
legs  had  power  to  run  away  with  him." 


They  met  by  accident  on  Madison  Square,  and 
shook  hands  for  the  first  time  in  many  years. 
High  in  the  Metropolitan  Tower  the  chimes  cele 
brated  the  occasion  by  sounding  the  half  hour. 

"It  seems  incredible,"  exclaimed  George  Z. 
194 


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Green,  "that  you  could  have  become  so  famous ! 
You  never  displayed  any  remarkable  ability  in 
school." 

"I  never  displayed  any  ability  at  all.  But  you 
did,"  said  Williams  admiringly.  "How  beautifully 
you  used  to  write  your  name  on  the  blackboard! 
How  neat  and  scholarly  you  were  in  everything." 

"I  know  it,"  said  Green  gloomily.  "And  you 
flunked  in  almost  everything." 

"In  everything,"  admitted  Williams,  deeply 
mortified. 

"And  yet,"  said  Green,  "here  we  are  at  thirty 
odd;  and  I'm  merely  a  broker,  and — look  what 
you  are!  Why,  I  can't  go  anywhere  but  I  find 
one  of  your  novels  staring  me  in  the  face.  I've 
been  in  Borneo :  they're  there !  They're  in  Aus 
tralia  and  China  and  Patagonia.  Why  the  devil 
do  you  suppose  people  buy  the  stories  you  write?" 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  said  Williams  mod 
estly. 

"I  don't  know  either,  though  I  read  them  my 
self  sometimes — I  don't  know  why.  They're  all 
very  well  in  their  way — if  you  care  for  that  sort 
of  book — but  the  things  you  tell  about,  Williams, 
never  could  have  happened.  I'm  not  knocking 
you;  I'm  a  realist,  that's  all.  And  when  I  read  a 
short  story  by  you  in  which  a  young  man  sees  a 
195 


Quick   Action 


pretty  girl,  and  begins  to  talk  to  her  without 
being  introduced  to  her,  and  then  marries  her  be 
fore  luncheon — and  finds  he's  married  a  Balkan 
Princess — good-night!  I  just  wonder  why  people 
stand  for  your  books;  that's  all." 

"So  do  I,"  said  Williams,  much  embarrassed. 
"I  wouldn't  stand  for  them  myself." 

"Why,"  continued  Green  warmly,  "I  read  a 
story  of  yours  in  some  magazine  the  other  day,  in 
which  a  young  man  sees  a  pretty  girl  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life  and  is  married  to  her  inside  of 
three  quarters  of  an  hour !  And  I  ask  you,  Wil 
liams,  how  you  would  feel  after  spending  fifteen 
cents  on  such  a  story?" 

"I'm  terribly  sorry,  old  man,"  murmured  Wil 
liams.  "Here's  your  fifteen — if  you  like " 

"Dammit,"  said  Green  indignantly,  "it  isn't 
that  they're  not  readable  stories!  I  had  fifteen 
cents'  worth  all  right.  But  it  makes  a  man  sore 
to  see  what  happens  to  the  young  men  in  your 
stories — and  all  the  queens  they  collect — and  then 
to  go  about  town  and  never  see  anything  of  that 
sort!" 

"There  are  millions  of  pretty  girls  in  town," 
ventured  Williams.  "I  don't  think  I  exaggerate  in 
that  respect." 

"But  they'd  call  an  officer  if  young  men  in  real 
196 


Quick   Action 


life  behaved  as  they  do  in  your  stories.  As  a 
matter  of  fact  and  record,  there's  no  more  ro 
mance  in  New  York  than  there  is  in  the  annual 
meeting  of  the  British  Academy  of  Ancient  Assy 
rian  Inscriptions.  And  you  know  it,  Williams !" 

"I  think  it  depends  on  the  individual  man,"  said 
Williams  timidly. 

"How?" 

"If  there's  any  romance  in  a  man  himself,  he's 
apt  to  find  the  world  rather  full  of  it." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  there  isn't  any  romance 
in  me?"  demanded  George  Z.  Green  hotly. 

"I  don't  know,  George.     Is  there?" 

"Plenty.  Pl-en-ty!  I'm  always  looking  for 
romance.  I  look  for  it  when  I  go  down  town  to 
business ;  I  look  for  it  when  I  go  home.  Do  I 
find  it?  No  !  Nothing  ever  happens  to  me.  Noth 
ing  beautiful  and  wealthy  beyond  the  dreams  of 
avarice  ever  tries  to  pick  me  up.  Explain  that!" 

Williams,  much  abashed,  ventured  no  explana 
tion. 

"And  to  think,"  continued  Green,  "that  you, 
my  old  school  friend,  should  become  a  celebrity 
merely  by  writing  such  stories !  Why,  you're  as 
celebrated  as  any  brand  of  breakfast  food!" 

"You  don't  have  to  read  my  books,  you  know," 
protested  Williams  mildly. 
197 


Quick   Action 


"I  don't  have  to — I  know  it.  But  I  do. 
Everybody  does.  And  nobody  knows  why.  So, 
meeting  you  again  after  all  these  unromantic 
years,  I  thought  I'd  just  ask  you  whether  by  any 
chance  you  happen  to  know  of  any  particular 
section  of  the  city  where  a  plain,  everyday  broker 
might  make  a  hit  with  the  sort  of  girl  you  write 
about.  Do  you?" 

"Any  section  of  this  city  is  romantic  enough 
— if  you  only  approach  it  in  the  proper  spirit," 
asserted  Williams. 

"You  mean  if  my  attitude  toward  romance  is 
correct  I'm  likely  to  encounter  it  almost  any 
where  ?" 

"That  is  my  theory,"  admitted  Williams  bash- 
fully. 

"Oh!  Well,  what  is  the  proper  attitude?  Take 
me,  for  example.  I've  just  been  to  the  bank.  I 
carry,  at  this  moment,  rather  a  large  sum  of 
money  in  my  inside  overcoat  pocket.  My  purpose 
in  drawing  it  was  to  blow  it.  Now,  tell  me  how 
to  blow  it  romantically." 

"How  can  I  tell  you  such  a  thing,  George 

"It's    your    business.      You    tell    people    such 

things  in  books.     Now,  tell  me,  face  to  face,  man 

to  man,  how  to  get  thoroughly  mixed  up  in  the 

sort  of  romance  you  write — the  kind  of  romance 

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that  has  made  William  McWilliam  Williams  fa 


mous  !" 

"I'm  sorry 

"What!  You  won't!  You  admit  that  what 
you  write  is  bunk?  You  confess  that  you  don't 
know  where  there  are  any  stray  queens  with  whom 
I  might  become  happily  entangled  within  the  next 
fifteen  minutes?" 

"I  admit  no  such  thing,"  said  Williams  with 
dignity.  "If  your  attitude  is  correct,  in  ten  min 
utes  you  can  be  up  against  anything  on  earth!" 

"Where?" 

"Anywhere !" 

"Very  well!  Here  we  are  on  Madison  Square. 
There's  Admiral  Farragut;  there's  the  Marble 
Tower.  Do  you  mean  that  if  I  walk  from  this 
spot  for  ten  minutes — no  matter  in  what  direction 
— I'll  walk  straight  into  Romance  up  to  my 
neck?" 

"If  your  attitude  is  correct,  yes.  But  you've 
got  to  know  the  elements  of  Romance  when  you 
see  them." 

"What  are  the  elements  of  Romance?  What 
do  they  resemble?"  demanded  George  Z.  Green. 

Williams  said,  in  a  low,  impressive  voice: 

"Anything  that  seems  to  you  unusual  is  very 
likely  to  be  an  element  in  a  possible  romance.  If 
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you  see  anything  extraordinary  during  the  next 
ten  minutes,  follow  it  up.  And  ninety-nine  chances 
in  a  hundred  it  will  lead  you  into  complications. 
Interfering  with  other  people's  business  usually 
does,"  he  added  pleasantly. 

"But,"  said  Green,  "suppose  during  the  next 
ten  minutes,  or  twenty  minutes,  or  the  next  twen 
ty-four  hours  I  don't  see  anything  unusual." 

"It  will  be  your  own  fault  if  you  don't.  The 
Unusual  is  occurring  all  about  us,  every  second. 
A  trained  eye  can  always  see  it." 

"But  suppose  the  Unusual  doesn't  occur  for 
the  next  ten  minutes,"  insisted  Green,  exasperated. 
"Suppose  the  Unusual  is  taking  a  vacation?  It 
would  be  just  my  luck." 

"Then,"  said  Williams,  "you  will  have  to 
imagine  that  everything  you  see  is  unusual.  Or 
else,"  he  added  blandly,  "you  yourself  will  have 
to  start  something.  That  is  where  the  creative 
mind  comes  in.  When  there's  nothing  doing  it 
starts  something." 

"Does  it  ever  get  arrested?"  inquired  Green 
ironically.  "The  creative  mind!  Sure!  That's 
where  all  this  bally  romance  is ! — in  the  creative 
mind.  I  knew  it.  Good-bye." 

They  shook  hands ;  Williams  went  down  town. 


XXII 

THIS  picture  is  not  concerned  with  his  des 
tination.  Or  even  whether  he  ever  got 
there. 

But  it  is  very  directly  concerned  with  George 
Z.  Green,  and  the  direction  he  took  when  he  parted 
from  his  old  school  friend. 

As  he  walked  up  town  he  said  to  himself, 
"Bunk !"  several  times.  After  a  few  moments  he 
fished  out  his  watch. 

"I  know  I'm  an  ass,"  he  said  to  himself,  "but 

I'll  take  a  chance.     I'll  give  myself  exactly  ten 

minutes  to  continue  making  an  ass  of  myself.   And 

if  I  see  the  faintest  symptom  of  Romance — if  I 

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notice  anything  at  all  peculiar  and  unusual  in 
any  person  or  any  thing  during  the  next  ten  min 
utes,  I  won't  let  it  get  away — believe  me!" 

He  walked  up  Broadway  instead  of  Fifth  Ave 
nue.  After  a  block  or  two  he  turned  west  at 
hazard,  crossed  Sixth  Avenue  and  continued. 

He  was  walking  in  one  of  the  upper  Twenties — 
he  had  not  particularly  noticed  which.  Commer 
cial  houses  nearly  filled  the  street,  although  a 
few  old-time  residences  of  brownstone  still  re 
mained.  Once  well-to-do  and  comfortable  homes, 
they  had  degenerated  into  chop  sueys,  boarding 
houses,  the  abodes  of  music  publishers,  artificial 
flower  makers,  and  mediums. 

It  was  now  a  shabby,  unkempt  street,  and  Green 
already  was  considering  it  a  hopeless  hunting 
ground,  and  had  even  turned  to  retrace  his  steps 
toward  Sixth  Avenue,  when  the  door  of  a  neigh 
bouring  house  opened  and  down  the  shabby, 
brown-stone  stoop  came  hurrying  an  exceedingly 
pretty  girl. 

Now,  the  unusual  part  of  the  incident  lay  in 
the  incongruity  of  the  street  and  the  girl.  For 
the  street  and  the  house  out  of  which  she  emerged 
so  hastily  were  mean  and  ignoble;  but  the  girl 
herself  fairly  radiated  upper  Fifth  Avenue  from 
the  perfectly  appointed  and  expensive  simplicity 
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of  hat  and  gown  to  the  obviously  aristocratic  and 
dainty  face  and  figure. 

"Is  she  a  symptom?"  thought  Green  to  himself. 
"Is  she  an  element?  That  is  sure  a  rotten  looking 
joint  she  came  out  of." 

Moved  by  a  sudden  and  unusual  impulse  of  in 
telligence,  he  ran  up  the  brownstone  stoop  and 
read  the  dirty  white  card  pasted  on  the  facade 
above  the  door  bell. 

THE      PRINCESS      ZIMBAMZIM 
TRANCE     MEDIUM.      FORTUNES. 

Taken  aback,  he  looked  after  the  pretty  girl 
who  was  now  hurrying  up  the  street  as  though  the 
devil  were  at  her  dainty  heels. 

Could  she  be  the  Princess  Zimbamzim?  Com 
mon  sense  rejected  the  idea,  as  did  the  sudden  jerk 
of  soiled  lace  curtains  at  the  parlour  window,  and 
the  apparition  of  a  fat  lady  in  a  dingy,  pink  tea- 
gown.  That  must  be  the  Princess  Zimbamzim  and 
the  pretty  girl  had  ventured  into  these  purlieus 
to  consult  her.  Why? 

"This  is  certainly  a  symptom  of  romance!" 
thought  the  young  man  excitedly.  And  he  started 
after  the  pretty  girl  at  a  Fifth  Avenue  amble. 

He  overtook  and  passed  her  at  Sixth  Avenue, 
and  managed  to  glance  at  her  without  being  of- 
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fensive.  To  his  consternation,  she  was  touching 
her  tear-stained  eyes  with  her  handkerchief.  She 
did  not  notice  him. 

What  could  be  the  matter?  With  what  mys 
tery  was  he  already  in  touch? 

Tremendously  interested  he  fell  back  a  few 
paces  and  lighted  a  cigarette,  allowing  her  to 
pass  him;  then  he  followed  her.  Never  before  in 
his  life  had  he  done  such  a  scandalous  thing. 

On  Broadway  she  hailed  a  taxi,  got  into  it,  and 
sped  uptown.  There  was  another  taxi  available; 
Green  took  it  and  gave  the  driver  a  five  dollar  tip 
to  keep  the  first  taxi  in  view. 

Which  was  very  easy,  for  it  soon  stopped  at  a 
handsome  apartment  house  on  Park  Avenue ;  the 
girl  sprang  out,  and  entered  the  building  almost 
running. 

For  a  moment  George  Z.  Green  thought  that  all 
was  lost.  But  the  taxi  she  had  taken  remained, 
evidently  waiting  for  her;  and  sure  enough,  in  a 
few  minutes  out  she  came,  hurrying,  enveloped  in 
a  rough  tweed  travelling  coat  and  carrying  a  little 
satchel.  Slam!  went  the  door  of  her  taxi;  and 
away  she  sped,  and  Green  after  her  in  his  taxi. 

Again  the  chase  proved  to  be  very  short.  Her 
taxi  stopped  at  the  Pennsylvania  Station;  out 
she  sprang,  paid  the  driver,  and  hurried  straight 
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for  the  station  restaurant,  Green  following  at  a 
fashionable  lope. 

She  took  a  small  table  by  a  window;  Green 
took  the  next  one.  It  was  not  because  she  no 
ticed  him  and  found  his  gaze  offensive,  but  because 
she  felt  a  draught  that  she  rose  and  took  the  table 
behind  Green,  exactly  where  he  could  not  see  her 
unless  he  twisted  his  neck  into  attitudes  unseemly. 

He  wouldn't  do  such  things,  being  really  a 
rather  nice  young  man;  and  it  was  too  late  for 
him  to  change  his  table  without  attracting  her  at 
tention,  because  the  waiter  already  had  brought 
him  whatever  he  had  ordered  for  tea — muffins, 
buns,  crumpets — he  neither  knew  nor  cared. 

So  he  ate  them  with  jam,  which  he  detested; 
and  drank  his  tea  and  listened  with  all  his  ears 
for  the  slightest  movement  behind  him  which  might 
indicate  that  she  was  leaving. 

Only  once  did  he  permit  himself  to  turn  around, 
under  pretense  of  looking  for  a  waiter ;  and  he 
saw  two  blue  eyes  still  brilliant  with  unshed  tears 
and  a  very  lovely  but  unhappy  mouth  all  ready 
to  quiver  over  its  toast  and  marmalade. 

What  on  earth  could  be  the  matter  with  that 
girl?  What  terrible  tragedy  could  it  be  that  was 
still  continuing  to  mar  her  eyes  and  twitch  her 
sensitive,  red  lips? 

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Green,  sipping  his  tea,  trembled  pleasantly  all 
over  as  he  realised  that  at  last  he  was  setting  his 
foot  upon  the  very  threshold  of  Romance.  And 
he  determined  to  cross  that  threshold  if  neither 
good  manners,  good  taste,  nor  the  police  inter 
fered. 

And  what  a  wonderful  girl  for  his  leading  lady ! 
What  eyes !  What  hair !  What  loveiy  little 
hands,  with  the  gloves  hastily  rolled  up  from  the 
wrist!  Why  should  she  be  unhappy?  He'd  like 
to  knock  the  block  off  any  man  who 

Green  came  to  himself  with  a  thrill  of  happi 
ness  :  her  pretty  voice  was  sounding  in  exquisite 
modulations  behind  him  as  she  asked  the  waiter 
for  m-more  m-marmalade. 

In  a  sort  of  trance,  Green  demolished  bun  after 
bun.  Normally,  he  loathed  the  indigestible. 
After  what  had  seemed  to  him  an  interminable 
length  of  time,  he  ventured  to  turn  around  again 
in  pretense  of  calling  a  waiter. 

Her  chair  was  empty ! 

At  first  he  thought  she  had  disappeared  past  all 
hope  of  recovery;  but  the  next  instant  he  caught 
sight  of  her  hastening  out  toward  the  ticket  boxes. 

Flinging  a  five-dollar  bill  on  the  table,  he  has 
tily  invited  the  waiter  to  keep  the  change ;  sprang 
to  his  feet,  and  turned  to  seize  his  overcoat.  It 
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was  gone  from  the  hook  where  he  had  hung  it  just 
behind  him. 

Astonished,  he  glanced  at  the  disappearing  girl, 
and  saw  his  overcoat  over  her  arm.  For  a  mo 
ment  he  supposed  that  she  had  mistaken  it  for  her 
own  ulster,  but  no !  She  was  wearing  her  own 
coat,  too. 

A  cold  and  sickening  sensation  assailed  the  pit 
of  Green's  stomach.  Was  it  not  a  mistake,  after 
all?  Was  this  lovely  young  girl  a  professional 
criminal?  Had  she  or  some  of  her  band  observed 
Green  coming  out  of  the  bank  and  thrusting  a  fat 
wallet  into  the  inside  pocket  of  his  overcoat? 

He  was  walking  now,  as  fast  as  he  was  thinking, 
keeping  the  girl  in  view  amid  the  throngs  passing 
through  the  vast  rotunda. 

When  she  stopped  at  a  ticket  booth  he  entered 
the  brass  railed  space  behind  her. 

She  did  not  appear  to  know  exactly  where  she 
was  going,  for  she  seemed  by  turns  distrait  and 
agitated;  and  he  heard  her  ask  the  ticket  agent 
when  the  next  train  left  for  the  extreme  South. 

Learning  that  it  left  in  a  few  minutes,  and  find 
ing  that  she  could  secure  a  stateroom,  she  took 
it,  paid  for  it,  and  hastily  left  without  a  glance 
behind  her  at  Green. 

Meanwhile  Green  had  very  calmly  slipped  one 
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hand  into  the  breast  pocket  of  his  own  overcoat, 
where  it  trailed  loosely  over  her  left  arm,  mean 
ing  to  extract  his  wallet  without  anybody  ob 
serving  him.  The  wallet  was  not  there.  He  was 
greatly  inclined  to  run  after  her,  but  he  didn't. 
He  watched  her  depart,  then: 

"Is  there  another  stateroom  left  on  the  Ver 
bena  Special?"  he  inquired  of  the  ticket  agent, 
coolly  enough. 

"One.    Do  you  wish  it?" 

"Yes." 

The  ticket  agent  made  out  the  coupons  and 
shoved  the  loose  change  under  the  grille,  saying: 

"Better  hurry,  sir.    You've  less  than  a  minute." 

He  ran  for  his  train  and  managed  to  swing 
aboard  just  as  the  coloured  porters  were  closing 
the  vestibules  and  the  train  was  in  motion. 

A  trifle  bewildered  at  what  he  had  done,  and 
by  the  rapidity  with  which  he  had  done  it,  he  sank 
down  in  the  vacant  observation  car  to  collect  his 
thoughts. 

He  was  on  board  the  Verbena  Special — the 
southern  train-de-luxe — bound  for  Jacksonville, 
St.  Augustine,  Palm  Beach,  Verbena  Inlet,  or  Mi 
ami — or  for  Nassau,  Cuba,  and  the  remainder  of 
the  West  Indies — just  as  he  chose. 

He  had  no  other  luggage  than  a  walking-stick. 
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Even  his  overcoat  was  in  possession  of  somebody 
else.  That  was  the  situation  that  now  faced 
George  Z.  Green. 

But  as  the  train  emerged  from  the  river  tube, 
and  he  realised  all  this,  he  grew  calmer;  and  the 
calmer  he  grew  the  happier  he  grew. 

He  was  no  longer  on  the  threshold  of  Romance ; 
he  had  crossed  it,  and  already  he  was  being 
whirled  away  blindly  into  the  Unusual  and  the 
Unknown ! 

Exultingly  he  gazed  out  of  the  windows  upon 
the  uninspiring  scenery  of  New  Jersey.  A  won 
derful  sense  of  physical  lightness  and  mental  free 
dom  took  delightful  possession  of  him.  Oppor 
tunity  had  not  beckoned  him  in  vain.  Chance 
had  glanced  sideways  at  him,  and  he  had  recog 
nised  the  pretty  flirt.  His  was  certainly  some 
brain ! 

And  now,  still  clinging  to  the  skirts  of  Chance, 
he  was  being  whisked  away,  pell  mell,  headlong 
toward  Destiny,  in  the  trail  of  a  slender,  strange 
young  girl  who  had  swiped  his  overcoat  and  who 
seemed  continually  inclined  to  tears. 

The  incident  of  the  overcoat  no  longer  troubled 

him.      That  garment  of  his  was   not   unlike  the 

rough  travelling  coat  she  herself  wore.     And  it 

might  have  been  natural  to  her,  in  her  distress  of 

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mind  and  very  evident  emotion,  to  have  seized  it 
by  mistake  and  made  off  with  it,  forgetting  that 
she  still  wore  her  own. 

Of  course  it  was  a  mistake  pure  and  simple. 
He  had  only  to  look  at  the  girl  and  understand 
that.  One  glance  at  her  sweet,  highbred  fea 
tures  was  sufficient  to  exonerate  her  as  a  purloiner 
of  gentlemen's  garments. 

Green  crossed  his  legs,  folded  his  arms,  and 
reflected.  The  overcoat  was  another  and  most 
important  element  in  this  nascent  Romance. 

The  difficulty  lay  in  knowing  how  to  use  the 
overcoat  to  advantage  in  furthering  and  further 
complicating  a  situation  already  delightful. 

Of  course  he  could  do  the  obvious:  he  could 
approach  her  and  take  off  his  hat  and  do  the  well- 
bred  and  civil  and  explain  to  her  the  mistake. 

But  suppose  she  merely  said:  "I'm  sorry," 
handed  over  his  coat,  and  continued  to  read  her 
magazine.  That  would  end  it.  And  it  mustn't 
end  until  he  found  out  why  she  had  emerged  with 
tears  in  her  beautiful  eyes  from  the  abode  of  the 
Princess  Zimbamzim. 

Besides,   he  was   sure   of  getting  his   coat,  his 
wallet,  and  its  contents.     His  name  and  address 
were  in  the  wallet ;  also  both  were  sewed  inside  the 
inner  pocket  of  the  overcoat. 
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What  would  ultimately  happen  would  be  this: 
sooner  or  later  she'd  come  to,  wake  up,  dry  her 
pretty  eyes,  look  about,  and  find  that  she  had  two 
overcoats  in  her  possession. 

It  would  probably  distress  her  dreadfully,  par 
ticularly  when  she  discovered  the  wallet  and  the 
money.  But,  wherever  she  was  going,  as  soon  as 
she  reached  there  she'd  send  overcoat  and  money 
back  to  his  address — doubtless  with  a  pretty  and 
contrite  note  of  regret. 

Yes,  but  that  wouldn't  do !  What  good  would 
the  overcoat  and  the  money  be  to  him,  if  he  were 
South  and  she  shipped  them  North?  And  yet  he 
was  afraid  to  risk  an  abrupt  ending  to  his  Ro 
mance  by  explaining  to  her  the  mistake. 

No ;  he'd  merely  follow  her  for  the  present.  He 
couldn't  help  it  very  well,  being  aboard  the  same 
train.  So  it  would  not  be  difficult  to  keep  his  eye 
on  her  as  well  as  his  overcoat,  and  think  out  at  his 
leisure  how  best  to  tend,  guard,  cherish,  and  nour 
ish  the  delicate  and  unopened  bud  of  Ro 
mance. 

Meanwhile,  there  were  other  matters  he  must 
consider ;  so  he  wrote  out  a  telegram  to  Washing 
ton  ordering  certain  necessary  articles  to  be 
brought  aboard  the  Verbena  Special  on  its  arrival 
there.  The  porter  took  charge  of  it. 
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That  night  at  dinner  he  looked  for  the  girl  in 
vain.  She  did  not  enter  the  dining-car  while  he 
was  there.  Haunting  the  corridors  afterward  he 
saw  no  sign  of  her  anywhere  until,  having  received 
his  necessaries  in  a  brand  new  travelling  satchel, 
and  on  his  way  to  his  stateroom,  he  caught  a 
glimpse  of  her,  pale  and  agitated,  in  conversa 
tion  with  the  porter  at  her  partly  opened  door. 

She  did  not  even  glance  at  him  as  he  entered 
his  stateroom,  but  he  could  not  avoid  hearing 
what  she  was  saying  because  her  enunciation  was 
so  exquisitely  distinct. 

"Porter,"  she  said  in  her  low,  sweet  voice,  "I 
have,  somehow,  made  a  very  dreadful  mistake 
somewhere.  I  have  a  man's  overcoat  here  which 
does  not  belong  to  me.  The  cloth  is  exactly  like 
the  cloth  of  my  own  travelling  ulster,  and  I  must 
have  forgotten  that  I  had  mine  on  when  I  took 
this." 

"Ain't  de  gemman  abohd  de  Speshul,  Miss?" 
inquired  the  porter. 

"I'm  afraid  not.  I'm  certain  that  I  must  have 
taken  it  in  the  station  restaurant  and  brought  it 
aboard  the  train." 

"Ain't  nuff'n  in  de  pockets,  is  dey?"  asked  the 
porter. 

"Yes;  there's  a  wallet  strapped  with  a  rubber 


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band.  I  didn't  feel  at  liberty  to  open  it.  But 
I  suppose  I  ought  to  in  order  to  find  out  the 
owner's  name  if  possible." 

"De  gemman's  name  ain't  sewed  inside  de 
pocket,  is  it,  Miss?" 

"I  didn't  look,"  she  said. 

So  the  porter  took  the  coat,  turned  it  inside 
out,  explored  the  inside  pocket,  found  the  label, 
and  read: 

"Snipps  Brothers :  December,  1913.  George  Z. 
Green." 

A  stifled  exclamation  from  the  girl  checked  him. 
Green  also  protruded  his  head  cautiously  from  his 
own  doorway. 

The  girl,  standing  partly  in  the  aisle,  was  now 
leaning  limply  against  the  door-sill,  her  hand 
pressed  convulsively  to  her  breast,  her  face  white 
and  frightened. 

"Is  you  ill,  Miss?"  asked  the  porter  anxiously. 

"I — no.     Z — what  name  was  that  you  read?" 

"George  Z.  Green,  Miss— 

"It — it  can't  be!     Look  again!     It  can't  be!" 

Her  face  was  ashen  to  the  lips ;  she  closed  her 
eyes  for  a  second,  swayed ;  then  her  hand  clutched 
the  door-sill ;  she  straightened  up  with  an  effort 
and  opened  her  eyes,  which  now  seemed  dilated  by 
some  powerful  emotion. 

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"Let  me  see  that  name!"  she  said,  controlling 
her  voice  with  an  obvious  effort. 

The  porter  turned  the  pocket  inside  out  for 
her  inspection.  There  it  was : 

"George  Z.  Green:  lOOS1/^  Fifth  Avenue,  New 
York." 

"If  you  knows  de  gemman,  Miss,"  suggested 
the  porter,  "you  all  kin  take  dishere  garmint  back 
yo'se'f  when  you  comes  No'th." 

"Thank  you.  .  .  .  Then — I  won't  trouble  you. 
.  .  .  I'll — I'll  ta-t-take  it  back  myself — when  I 
go  North." 

"I  kin  ship  it  if  you  wishes,  Miss." 

She  said  excitedly :  "If  you  ship  it  from  some 
where  South,  he — Mr.  Green — would  see  where 
it  came  from  by  the  parcels  postmark  on  the  ex 
press  tag — wouldn't  he?" 

"Yaas,  Miss." 

"Then  I  don't  want  you  to  ship  it !  I'll  do  it 
myself.  .  .  .  How  can  I  ship  it  without  giving 
Mr.  Green  a  clue —  '  she  shuddered,  " — a  clue 
to  my  whereabouts?" 

"Does  you  know  de  gemman,  Miss?" 

"No !"  she  said,  with  another  shudder, — "and 
I  do  not  wish  to.  I — I  particularly  do  not  wish 
ever  to  know  him — or  even  to  see  him.  And  above 
all  I  do  not  wish  Mr.  Green  to  come  South  and 


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investigate  the  circumstances  concerning  this 
overcoat.  He  might  take  it  into  his  head  to  do 
such  a  thing.  It — it's  horrible  enough  that  I 
have — that  I  actually  have  in  my  possession  the 
overcoat  of  the  very  man  on  whose  account  I  left 
New  York  at  ten  minutes'  notice 

Her  pretty  voice  broke  and  her  eyes  filled. 

"You — you  don't  understand,  porter,"  she 
added,  almost  hysterically,  "but  my  possession  of 
this  overcoat — of  all  the  billions  and  billions  of 
overcoats  in  all  the  world — is  a  t-terrible  and 
astounding  b-blow  to  me !" 

"Is — is  you  afeard  o'  dishere  overcoat,  Miss?" 
inquired  the  astonished  darkey. 

"Yes!"  she  said.  "Yes,  I  am!  I'm  horribly 
afraid  of  that  overcoat!  I — I'd  like  to  throw  it 
from  the  train  window,  but  I — I  can't  do  that, 
of  course !  It  would  be  stealing 

Her  voice  broke  again  with  nervous  tears : 

"I  d-don't  want  the  coat!  And  I  can't  throw 
it  away!  And  if  it's  shipped  to  him  from  the 
South  he  may  come  down  here  and  investigate. 
He's  in  New  York  now.  That's  why  I  am  on  my 
way  South !  I — I  want  him  to  remain  in  New 
York  until — until  all — d-danger  is  over.  And  by 
the  first  of  April  it  will  be  over.  And  then  I'll 

come  North — and  bring  him  his  coat " 

215 


Quick   Action 


The  bewildered  darkey  stared  at  her  and  at  the 
coat  which  she  had  unconsciously  clutched  to 
her  breast. 

"Do  you  think,"  she  said,  "that  M-Mr.  Green 
will  need  the  coat  this  winter?  Do  you  suppose 
anything  would  happen  to  him  if  he  doesn't  have 
it  for  a  while — pneumonia  or  anything?  Oh!"  she 
exclaimed  in  a  quivering  voice,  "I  wish  he  and 
his  overcoat  were  at  the  South  Pole !" 

Green  withdrew  his  head  and  pressed  both 
palms  to  his  temples.  Could  he  trust  his  ears? 
Was  he  going  mad?  Holding  his  dizzy  head  in 
both  hands  he  heard  the  girl  say  that  she  herself 
would  attend  to  shipping  the  coat ;  heard  the  per 
plexed  darkey  take  his  leave  and  go;  heard  her 
stateroom  door  close. 

Seated  in  his  stateroom  he  gazed  vacantly  at 
the  couch  opposite,  so  completely  bewildered  with 
his  first  over-dose  of  Romance  that  his  brain 
seemed  to  spin  like  a  frantic  squirrel  in^  a  wheel, 
and  his  thoughts  knocked  and  jumbled  against 
each  other  until  it  truly  seemed  to  him  that  all 
his  senses  were  fizzling  out  like  wet  firecrackers. 

What  on  earth  had  he  ever  done  to  inspire  such 
horror  in  the  mind  of  this  young  girl? 

What  terrible  injury  had  he  committed  against 
her  or  hers  that  the  very  sound  of  his  name  ter- 
216 


Quick   Action 


rifled  her — the  mere  sight  of  his  overcoat  left  her 
almost  hysterical? 

Helplessly,  half  stupefied,  he  cast  about  in  his 
wrecked  mind  to  discover  any  memory  or  record 
of  any  injury  done  to  anybody  during  his  par 
ticularly  blameless  career  on  earth. 

In  school  he  had  punched  the  noses  of  several 
schoolmates,  and  had  been  similarly  smitten  in  re 
turn.  That  was  the  extent  of  physical  injury 
ever  done  to  anybody. 

Of  grave  moral  wrong  he  knew  he  was  guilt 
less.  True,  he  had  frequently  skinned  the  assem 
bly  at  convivial  poker  parties.  But  also  he  had 
often  opened  jacks  only  to  be  mercilessly  deprived 
of  them  amid  the  unfeeling  and  brutal  laughter 
of  his  companions.  No,  he  was  not  guilty  of 
criminal  gambling. 

Had  he  ever  done  a  wrong  to  anybody  in  busi 
ness?  Never.  His  firm's  name  was  the  symbol 
for  probity. 

He  dashed  his  hands  to  his  brow  distractedly. 
What  in  Heaven's  name  had  he  done  to  fill  the 
very  soul  of  this  young  girl  with  fear  and  loath 
ing?  What  in  the  name  of  a  merciful  Provi 
dence  had  he,  George  Z.  Green,  banker  and  broker, 
ever  done  to  drive  this  young  and  innocent  girl 
out  of  the  City  of  New  York ! 
217 


Quick    Action 


To  collect  and  marshal  his  disordered  thoughts 
was  difficult  but  he  accomplished  it  with  the  aid 
of  cigarettes.  To  a  commonplace  intellect  there 
is  no  aid  like  a  cigarette. 

At  first  he  was  inclined  to  believe  that  the  girl 
had  merely  mistaken  him  for  another  man  with  a 
similar  name.  George  Z.  Green  was  not  an  un 
usual  name. 

But  his  address  in  town  was  also  written  inside 
his  coat  pocket ;  and  she  had  read  it.  Therefore, 
it  was  painfully  evident  to  him  that  her  detesta 
tion  and  fear  was  for  him. 

What  on  earth  had  inspired  such  an  attitude 
of  mind  toward  himself  in  a  girl  he  had  seen  for 
the  first  time  that  afternoon?  He  could  not  imag 
ine.  And  another  strange  feature  of  the  affair 
was  that  she  had  not  particularly  noticed  him. 
Therefore,  if  she  entertained  such  a  horror  of 
him,  why  had  she  not  exhibited  some  trace  of  it 
when  he  was  in  her  vicinity? 

Certainly  she  had  not  exhibited  it  by  crying. 
He  exonerated  himself  on  that  score,  for  she  had 
been  on  the  verge  of  tears  when  he  first  beheld  her 
hurrying  out  of  the  parlours  of  the  Princess  Zim- 
bamzim. 

It  gradually  became  plain  to  him  that,  although 
there  could  be  no  doubt  that  this  girl  was  afraid 
218 


Quick   Action 


of  him,  and  cordially  disliked  him,  yet  strangely 
enough,  she  did  not  know  him  by  sight. 

Consequently,  her  attitude  must  be  inspired  by 
something  she  had  heard  concerning  him.  What? 

He  puffed  his  cigarette  and  groaned.  As  far 
as  he  could  remember,  he  had  never  harmed  a 
fly. 


THAT  night  he  turned  in,  greatly  depressed. 
Bad     dreams     assailed     his     slumbers — 
menacing  ones  like  the  visions  that  an 
noyed  Eugene  Aram. 

And  every  time  he  awoke  and  sat  up  in  his 
bunk,  shaken  by  the  swaying  car,  he  realised  that 
Romance  had  also  its  tragic  phases — a  sample 
of  which  he  was  now  enduring.  And  yet,  miser 
able  as  he  was,  a  horrid  sort  of  joy  neutralised 
the  misery  when  he  recollected  that  it  was  Ro 
mance,  after  all,  and  that  he,  George  Z.  Green, 
was  in  it  up  to  his  neck. 

A  grey  morning — a  wet  and  pallid  sky  lowering 
over  the  brown  North  Carolina  fields — this  was 
his  waking  view  from  his  tumbled  bunk. 
220 


Quick   Action 


Neither  his  toilet  nor  his  breakfast  dispelled 
the  gloom;  certainly  the  speeding  landscape  did 
not. 

He  sat  grimly  in  the  observation  car,  reviewing 
a  dispiriting  landscape  set  with  swamps,  razor- 
backs,  buzzards,  and  niggers. 

Luncheon  aided  him  very  little.  She  had  not 
appeared  at  all.  Either  her  own  misery  and 
fright  were  starving  her  to  death  or  she  preferred 
to  take  her  meals  in  her  stateroom.  He  hoped 
fervently  the  latter  might  be  the  case;  that 
murder  might  not  be  added  to  whatever  else  he 
evidently  was  suspected  of  committing. 

Like  the  ticket  he  had  seen  her  purchase,  his 
own  ticket  took  him  as  far  as  Ormond.  Of  course 
he  could  go  on  if  she  did.  She  could  go  to  the 
West  Indies  and  ultimately  to  Brazil.  So  could 
he.  They  were  on  the  main  travelled  road  to  al 
most  anywhere. 

Nevertheless,  he  was  on  the  watch  at  St.  Augus 
tine  ;  and  when  he  saw  her  come  forth  hastily  and 
get  into  a  bus  emblazoned  with  the  name  and 
escutcheon  of  the  Hotel  Royal  Orchid,  he  got  in 
also. 

The  bus  was  full.  Glancing  at  the  other  oc 
cupants  of  the  bus,  she  included  him  in  her  brief 
review,  and  to  his  great  relief  he  saw  her  incuri- 


Quick   Action 


ous   blue  eyes  pass   calmly  to  the  next  counte 
nance. 

A  dreadful,  almost  hysterical  impulse  assailed 
him  to  suddenly  rise  and  say:  "I  am  George  Z. 
Green !" — merely  to  observe  the  cataclysmic  ef 
fect  on  her. 

But  it  did  not  seem  so  funny  to  him  on  after 
thoughts,  for  the  chances  appeared  to  be  that  she 
could  not  survive  the  shock.  Which  scared  him; 
and  he  looked  about  nervously  for  fear  some 
body  who  knew  him  might  be  among  the  passen 
gers,  and  might  address  him  by  name. 

In  due  time  the  contents  of  the  bus  trooped 
into  the  vast  corridors  of  the  Hotel  Royal  Or 
chid.  One  by  one  they  registered;  and  on  the 
ledger  Green  read  her  name  with  palpitating  heart 
— Miss  Marie  Wiltz  and  Maid.  And  heard  her 
say  to  the  clerk  that  her  maid  had  been  delayed 
and  would  arrive  on  the  next  train. 

It  never  occurred  to  this  unimaginative  man 
to  sign  any  name  but  his  own  to  the  register  that 
was  shoved  toward  him.  Which  perfectly  proves 
his  guilelessness  and  goodness. 

He  went  to  his  room,   cleansed  from  his  per 
son  the   stains   of  travel,   and,  having   no   outer 
clothes  to  change  to,  smoked  a  cigarette  and  gazed 
moodily  from  the  window. 
222 


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Now,  his  window  gave  on  the  drive-encircled 
fountain  before  the  front  entrance  to  the  hotel; 
and,  as  he  was  standing  there  immersed  in  tobacco 
smoke  and  gloom,  he  was  astonished  to  see  the 
girl  herself  come  out  hastily,  travelling  satchel 
in  hand,  and  spring  lightly  into  a  cab.  It  was 
one  of  those  victorias  which  are  stationed  for  hire 
in  front  of  such  southern  hotels ;  he  could  see  her 
perfectly  plainly ;  saw  the  darkey  coachman  flour 
ish  his  whip ;  saw  the  vehicle  roll  away. 

The  next  instant  he  seized  his  new  satchel,, 
swept  his  brand  new  toilet  articles  into  it,  snapped 
it,  picked  up  hat  and  cane,  and  dashed  down  stairs. 
to  the  desk. 

Here  he  paid  his  bill,  ran  out,  and  leaped  into> 
a  waiting  victoria. 

"Where  did  that  other  cab  drive?"  he  de 
manded  breathlessly  to  his  negro  coachman. 
"Didn't  you  hear  what  the  young  lady  said  to 
her  driver?" 

"Yaas,  suh.  De  young  lady  done  say  she's  in 
a  pow'ful  hurry,  suh.  She  'low  she  gotta  git  to 
Ormond." 

"Ormond!     There's  no  train!" 

"Milk-train,  suh." 

"What!  Is  she  going  to  Ormond  on  a  milk- 
train?" 

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Quick   Action 


"Yaas,  suh." 

"All  right,  then.     Drive  me  to  the  station." 

It  was  not  very  far.  She  was  standing  alone 
on  the  deserted  platform,  her  bag  at  her  feet,  his 
overcoat  lying  across  it.  Her  head  was  bent,  and 
she  did  not  notice  him  at  first.  Never  had  he  seen 
a  youthful  figure  so  exquisitely  eloquent  of  des 
pair. 

The  milk-train  was  about  an  hour  overdue, 
which  would  make  it  about  due  in  the  South. 
Green  seated  himself  on  a  wooden  bench  and  folded 
his  hands  over  the  silver  crook  of  his  walking- 
stick.  The  situation  was  now  perfectly  clear  to 
him.  She  had  come  down  from  her  room,  and 
had  seen  his  name  on  the  register,  had  been  seized 
by  a  terrible  panic,  and  had  fled. 

Had  he  been  alone  and  unobserved,  he  might 
have  attempted  to  knock  his  brains  out  with  his 
walking-stick.  He  desired  to,  earnestly,  when  he 
realised  what  an  ass  he  had  been  to  sign  the  regis 
ter. 

She  had  begun  to  pace  the  platform,  nervously, 
halting  and  leaning  forward  from  time  to  time 
to  scan  impatiently  the  long,  glittering  perspec 
tive  of  the  metals. 

It  had  begun  to  grow  dusk.  Lanterns  on 
switches  and  semaphores  flashed  out  red,  green, 
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Quick   Action 


blue,   white,   stringing  their   jewelled   sparks   far 
away  into  the  distance. 

To  and  fro  she  paced  the  empty  platform,  pass 
ing  and  repassing  him.  And  he  began  to  notice 
presently  that  she  looked  at  him  rather  intently 
each  time. 

He  wondered  whether  she  suspected  his  identity. 
Guiltless  of  anything  that  he  could  remember  hav 
ing  done,  nevertheless  he  shivered  guiltily  every 
time  she  glanced  at  him. 

Then  the  unexpected  happened;  and  he  fairly 
shook  in  his  shoes  as  she  marched  deliberately  up 
to  him. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  she  said  in  a  very  sweet 
and  anxious  voice,  "but  might  I  ask  if  you  happen 
to  be  going  to  Ormond?" 

He  was  on  his  feet,  hat  in  hand,  by  this  time; 
his  heart  and  pulses  badly  stampeded;  but  he 
managed  to  answer  calmly  that  he  was  going  to 
Ormond. 

"There  is  only  a  milk-train,  I  understand,"  she 
said. 

"So  I  understand." 

"Do  you  think  there  will  be  any  difficulty  in 
my  obtaining  permission  to   travel  on  it?     The 
station-master  says  that  permission  is  not  given 
to  ladies  unaccompanied." 
225 


Quick   Action 


She   looked   at  him   almost   imploringly. 

"I  really  must  go  on  that  train,"  she  said  in  a 
low  voice.  "It  is  desperately  necessary.  Could 
you — could  you  manage  to  arrange  it  for  me?  I 
would  be  so  grateful ! — so  deeply  grateful !" 

"I'll  do  what  I  can,"  said  that  unimaginative 
man.  "Probably  bribery  can  fix  it ; 

"There  might  be — if — if — you  would  be  will 
ing — if  you  didn't  object — I  know  it  sounds  very 

strange — but  my  case  is  so  desperate "  She 

checked  herself,  flushing  a  delicate  pink.  And 
he  waited. 

Then,  very  resolutely  she  looked  up  at  him : 

"Would  you — could  you  p-pretend  that  I  am 
— am — your  sister?" 

"Certainly,"  he  said.  An  immense  happiness 
seized  him.  He  was  not  only  up  to  his  neck  in 
Romance.  It  was  already  over  his  head,  and  he 
was  out  of  his  depth,  and  swimming. 

"Certainly,"  he  repeated  quietly,  controlling 
his  joy  by  a  supreme  effort.  "That  would  be  the 
simplest  way  out  of  it,  after  all." 

She  said  earnestly,  almost  solemnly:  "If  you 
will  do  this  generous  thing  for — for  a  stranger — 
in  very  deep  perplexity  and  trouble — that 
stranger  will  remain  in  your  debt  while  life  lasts !" 

She  had  not  intended  to  be  dramatic ;  she  may 
226 


Quick   Action 


not  have  thought  she  was ;  but  the  tears  again 
glimmered  in  her  lovely  eyes,  and  the  situation 
seemed  tense  enough  to  George  Z.  Green. 

Moreover,  he  felt  that  complications  already 
were  arising — complications  which  he  had  often 
read  of  and  sometimes  dreamed  of.  Because, 
as  he  stood  there  in  the  southern  dusk,  looking 
at  this  slim,  young  girl,  he  began  to  realise  that 
never  before  in  all  his  life  had  he  gazed  upon  any 
thing  half  as  beautiful. 

Very  far  away  a  locomotive  whistled :  they  both 
turned,  and  saw  the  distant  headlight  glittering 
on  the  horizon  like  a  tiny  star. 

"W-would  it  be  best  for  us  to  t-take  your  name 
or  mine — in  case  they  ask  us?"  she  stammered, 
flushing  deeply. 

"Perhaps,"  he  said  pleasantly,  "you  might  be 
more  likely  to  remember  yours  in  an  emergency." 

"I  think  so,"  she  said  naively ;  "it  is  rather  dif 
ficult  for  me  to  deceive  anybody.  My  name  is 
Marie  Wiltz." 

"Then  I  am  Mr.  Wiltz,  your  brother,  for  an 
hour  or  two." 

"If  you  please,"  she  murmured. 

It  had  been  on  the  tip  of  his  tongue  to  add, 
"Mr.  George  Z.  Wiltz,"  but  he  managed  to  check 
himself. 

227 


Quick   Action 


The  great,  lumbering  train  came  rolling  in; 
the  station  agent  looked  very  sharply  through 
his  spectacles  at  Miss  Wiltz  when  he  saw  her  with 
Green,  but  being  a  Southerner,  he  gallantly  as 
sumed  that  it  was  all  right. 

One  of  the  train  crew  placed  two  wooden  chairs 
for  them  in  the  partly  empty  baggage  car;  and 
there  they  sat,  side  by  side,  while  the  big,  heavy 
milk  cans  were  loaded  aboard,  and  a  few  parcels 
shoved  into  their  car.  Then  the  locomotive  tooted 
leisurely;  there  came  a  jolt,  a  resonant  clash; 
and  the  train  was  under  way. 


XXIV 

F^  OR  a  while  the  baggage  master  fussed  about 
the  car,  sorting  out  packages  for  Or- 
mond;  then,  courteously  inquiring 
whether  he  could  do  anything  for  them,  and  learn 
ing  that  he  could  not,  he  went  forward  into  his 
own  den,  leaving  Marie  Wiltz  and  George  Z.  Green 
alone  in  a  baggage  car  dimly  illumined  by  a  small 
and  smoky  lamp. 

Being  well-bred  young  people,  they  broke  the 
tension  of  the  situation  gracefully  and  naturally, 
pretending  to  find  it  amusing  to  travel  in  a  milk 
train  to  a  fashionable  southern  resort. 

And  now  that  the  train  was  actually  under  way 
and  speeding  southward  through  the  night,  her 
relief  from  anxiety  was  very  plain  to  him.  He 
could  see  her  relax;  see  the  frightened  and  hunted 
look  in  her  eyes  die  out,  the  natural  and  delicious 
colour  return  to  her  cheeks. 

As  they  conversed  with  amiable  circumspection 
and  pleasant  formality,  he  looked  at  her  whenever 
229 


Quick   Action 


he  dared  without  seeming  to  be  impertinent;  and 
he  discovered  that  the  face  she  had  worn  since 
he  had  first  seen  her  was  not  her  natural  expres 
sion;  that  her  features  in  repose  or  in  fearless 
animation  were  winning  and  almost  gay. 

She  had  a  delightful  mouth,  sweet  and  humour 
ous  ;  a  delicate  nose  and  chin,  and  two  very  blue 
and  beautiful  eyes  that  looked  at  him  at  moments 
so  confidently,  so  engagingly,  that  the  knowledge 
of  what  her  expression  would  be  if  she  knew  who 
he  was  smote  him  at  moments,  chilling  his  very 
marrow. 

What  an  astonishing  situation !  How  he  would 
have  scorned  a  short  story  with  such  a  situation 
in  it !  And  he  thought  of  Williams — poor  old 
Williams ! — and  mentally  begged  his  pardon. 

For  he  understood  now  that  real  life  was  far 
stranger  than  fiction.  He  realised  at  last  that 
Romance  loitered  ever  around  the  corner;  that 
Opportunity  was  always  gently  nudging  one's  el 
bow. 

There  lay  his  overcoat  on  the  floor,  trailing 
over  her  satchel.  He  looked  at  it  so  fixedly  that 
she  noticed  the  direction  of  his  gaze,  glanced 
down,  blushed  furiously. 

"It  may  seem  odd  to  you  that  I  am  travelling 
with  a  man's  overcoat,"  she  said,  "but  it  will  seem 
230 


Quick    Action 


odder  yet  when  I  tell  you  that  I  don't  know  how 
I  came  by  it." 

"That  is  odd,"  he  admitted  smilingly.  "To 
whom  does  it  belong?" 

Her  features  betrayed  the  complicated  emo 
tions  that  successively  possessed  her — perplexity, 
anxiety,  bashfulness. 

After  a  moment  she  said  in  a  low  voice :  "You 
have  done  so  much  for  me  already — you  have  been 
so  exceedingly  nice  to  me — that  I  hesitate  to  ask 
of  you  anything  more — 

"Please  ask!"  he  urged.  "It  will  be  really  a 
happiness  for  me  to  serve  you." 

Surprised  at  his  earnestness  and  the  unembar 
rassed  warmth  of  his  reply,  she  looked  up  at  him 
gratefully  after  a  moment. 

"Would  you,"  she  said,  "take  charge  of  that 
overcoat  for  me  and  send  it  back  to  its  owner?" 

He  laughed  nervously:  "Is  that  all?  Why, 
of  course  I  shall!  I'll  guarantee  that  it  is  restored 
to  its  rightful  owner  if  you  wish." 

"Will  you?  If  you  do  that —  "  she  drew  a 
long,  sighing  breath,  "it  will  be  a  relief  to  me — 
such  a  wonderful  relief!"  She  clasped  her  gloved 
hands  tightly  on  her  knee,  smiled  at  him  breath 
lessly. 

"I  don't  suppose  you  will  ever  know  what  you 
231 


Quick   Action 


have  done  for  me.  I  could  never  adequately  ex 
press  my  deep,  deep  gratitude  to  you 

"But — I  am  doing  nothing  except  shipping 
back  an  overcoat 

"Ah — if  you  only  knew  what  you  really  are 
doing  for  me!  You  are  helping  me  in  the  direst 
hour  of  need  I  ever  knew.  You  are  aiding  me 
to  regain  control  over  my  own  destiny!  You  are 
standing  by  me  in  the  nick  of  time,  sheltering 
me,  encouraging  me,  giving  me  a  moment's  respite 
until  I  can  become  mistress  of  my  own  fate  once 
more." 

The  girl  had  ended  with  a  warmth,  earnestness 
and  emotion  which  she  seemed  to  be  unable  to 
control.  Evidently  she  had  been  very  much 
shaken,  and  in  the  blessed  relief  from  the  strain 
the  reaction  was  gathering  intensity. 

They  sat  in  silence  for  a  few  moments ;  then 
she  looked  up,  nervously  twisting  .her  gloved 
fingers. 

"I  am  sorry,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  "not  to 
exhibit  reticence  and  proper  self-control  before  a 
— a  stranger.  .  .  .  But  I — I  have  been — rather 
badly — frightened." 

"Nothing  need  frighten  you  now,"  he  said. 

"I  thought  so,  too.  I  thought  that  as  soon  as 
I  left  New  York  it  would  be  all  right.  But — but 
232 


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the  first  thing  I  saw  in  my  stateroom  was  that 
overcoat!  And  the  next  thing  that  occurred  was 
— was  almost — stupefying.  Until  I  boarded  this 
milk-train,  I  think  I  must  have  been  almost  ir 
responsible  from  sheer  fright." 

"What  frightened  you?"  he  asked,  trembling  in 
ternally. 

"I — I  can't  tell  you.  It  would  do  no  good. 
You  could  not  help  me." 

"Yet  you  say  I  have  already  aided  you." 

"Yes.  .  .  .  That  is  true.  .  .  .  And  you  witt 
send  that  overcoat  back,  won't  you?" 

"Yes,"  he  said.  "To  remember  it,  I'd  better 
put  it  on,  I  think." 

The  southern  night  had  turned  chilly,  and  he 
was  glad  to  bundle  into  his  own  overcoat  again. 

"From  where  will  you  ship  it?"  she  asked  anx 
iously. 

"From  Ormond " 

"Please  don't!" 

"Why?" 

"Because,"  she  said  desperately,  "the  owner  of 
that  coat  might  trace  it  to  Ormond  and — and 
come  down  there." 

"Where  is  he?" 

She  paled  and  clasped  her  hands  tighter: 

"I — I  thought — I  had  every  reason  to  believe 
233 


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that  he  was  in  New  York.  B-but  he  isn't.  He  is 
in  St.  Augustine!" 

"You  evidently  don't  wish  to  meet  him." 

"No — oh,  no,  I  don't  wish  to  meet  him — ever !" 

"Oh.  Am  I  to  understand  that  this — this  fel 
low,"  he  said  fiercely,  "is  following  you?" 

"I  don't  know — oh,  I  really  don't  know,"  she 
said,  her  blue  eyes  wide  with  apprehension.  "All 
I  know  is  that  I  do  not  desire  to  see  him — or  to 
have  him  see  me.  .  .  .  He  must  not  see  me;  it 
must  not  be — it  shall  not  be !  I — it's  a  very  ter 
rible  thing; — I  don't  know  exactly  what  I'm — 
I'm  fighting  against — because  it's — it's  simply  too 
dreadful " 

Emotion  checked  her,  and  for  a  moment  she 
covered  her  eyes  with  her  gloved  hands,  sitting  in 
silence. 

"Can't  I  help  you?"  he  asked  gently. 

She  dropped  her  hands  and  stared  at  him. 

"I  don't  know.  Do  you  think  you  could?  It 
all  seems  so — like  a  bad  dream.  I'll  have  to  tell 
you  about  it  if  you  are  to  help  me — won't 
I?" 

"If  you  think  it  best,"  he  said  with  an  inward 
quiver. 

"That's  it.  I  don't  know  whether  it  is  best  to 
ask  your  advice.  Yet,  I  don't  know  exactly  what 
234 


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else  to  do,"  she  added  in  a  bewildered  way,  pass 
ing  one  hand  slowly  over  her  eyes.  "Shall  I  tell 
you?" 

"Perhaps  you'd  better." 

"I  think  I  will !  .  .  .  I— I  left  New  York  in  a 
panic  at  a  few  moments'  notice.  I  thought  I'd 
go  to  Ormond  and  hide  there  for  a  while,  and  then, 
if — if  matters  looked  threatening,  I  could  go  to 
Miami  and  take  a  steamer  for  the  West  Indies, 
and  from  there — if  necessary — I  could  go  to  Bra 
zil " 

"But  why?"  he  demanded,  secretly  terrified  at 
his  own  question. 

She  looked  at  him  blankly  a  moment:  "Oh; 
I  forgot.  It — it  all  began  without  any  warning; 
and  instantly  I  began  to  run  away." 

"From  what?" 

"From — from    the   owner    of    that    overcoat!" 

"Who  is  he?" 

"His  name,"  she  said  resolutely,  "is  George  Z. 
Green.  And  I  am  running  away  from  him.  .  .  . 
And  I  am  afraid  you'll  think  it  very  odd  when 
I  tell  you  that  although  I  am  running  away  from 
him  I  do  not  know  him,  and  I  have  never  seen 
him." 

"Wh-what  is  the  matter  with  him?"  inquired 
Green,  with  a  sickly  attempt  at  smiling. 
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"He  wants  to  marry  me !"  she  exclaimed  indig 
nantly.  "That  is  what  is  the  matter  with  him." 

"Are  you  sure?"  he  asked,  astounded. 

"Perfectly.  And  the  oddest  thing  of  all  is  that 
I  do  not  think  he  has  ever  seen  me — or  ever  even 
heard  of  me." 

"But  how  can " 

"I'll  tell  you.  I  must  tell  you  now,  anyway. 
It  began  the  evening  before  I  left  New  York.  I — 
I  live  alone — with  a  companion — having  no  par 
ents.  I  gave  a  dinner  dance  the  evening  before  I 
— I  ran  away ; — there  was  music,  too ;  profes 
sional  dancers ; — a  crystal-gazing  fortune  teller — 
and  a  lot  of  people — loads  of  them." 

She  drew  a  short,  quick  breath,  and  shook  her 
pretty  head. 

"Everybody's  been  talking  about  the  Princess 
Zimbamzim  this  winter.  So  I  had  her  there.  .  .  . 
She — she  is  uncanny — positively  terrifying.  A 
dozen  women  were  scared  almost  ill  when  they 
came  out  of  her  curtained  corner. 

"And — and  then  she  demanded  me.  ...  I  had 
no  belief  in  such  things.  ...  I  went  into  that 
curtained  corner,  never  for  one  moment  dreaming 
that  what  she  might  say  would  matter  anything 
to  me.  ...  In  ten  minutes  she  had  me  scared  and 
trembling  like  a  leaf.  ...  I  didn't  want  to  stay; 
236 


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I  wanted  to  go.  I — couldn't,  somehow.  My  limbs 
were  stiff — I  couldn't  control  them — I  couldn't 
get  up !  All  my  will  power — was — was  para 
lysed!" 

The  girl's  colour  had  fled ;  she  looked  at  Green 
with  wide  eyes  dark  with  the  memory  of  fear. 

"She  told  me  to  come  to  her  for  an  hour's  crys 
tal  gazing  the  following  afternoon.  I — I  didn't 
want  to  go.  But  I  couldn't  seem  to  keep  away. 

"Then  a  terrible  thing  happened.  I — I  looked 
into  that  crystal  and  I  saw  there — saw  with  my 
own  eyes — myself  being  married  to  a — a  perfectly 
strange  man !  I  saw  myself  as  clearly  as  in  a 
looking  glass  ; — but  I  could  see  only  his  back.  He 
— he  wore  an  overcoat — like  that  one  I  gave  to 
you  to  send  back.  Think  of  it !  Married  to  a  man 
who  was  wearing  an  overcoat! 

"And  there  was  a  clergyman  who  looked  sleepy, 
and — and  two  strangers  as  witnesses — and  there 
was  I — // — getting  married  to  this  man.  .  .  . 
And  the  terrible  thing  about  it  was  that  I  looked 
at  him  as  though  I — I  1-loved  him 

Her  emotions  overcame  her  for  a  moment,  but 
she  swallowed  desperately,  lifted  her  head,  and 
forced  herself  to  continue : 

"Then  the  Princess  Zimbamzim  began  to  laugh, 
very  horridly :  and  I  asked  her,  furiously,  who  that 
237 


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man  was.  And  she  said:  'His  name  seems  to  be 
George  Z.  Green;  he  is  a  banker  and  broker;  and 
he  lives  at  1008V2  Fifth  Avenue.' 

"  'Am  /  marrying  him?'  I  cried.  'Am  /  marry 
ing  a  strange  broker  who  wears  an  overcoat  at 
the  ceremony?' 

"And  she  laughed  her  horrid  laugh  again  and 
said:  'You  certainly  are,  Miss  Wiltz.  You  can 
not  escape  it.  It  is  your  destiny.' 

"  'When  am  I  to  do  it?'  I  demanded,  trembling 
with  fright  and  indignation.  And  she  told  me 
that  it  was  certain  to  occur  within  either  three 
months  or  three  days.  ...  And — can  you  im 
agine  my  n-natural  feelings  of  horror — and  re 
pugnance?  Can  you  not  now  understand  the  panic 
that  seized  me — when  there,  all  the  time  in  the 
crystal,  I  could  actually  see  myself  doing  what 
that  dreadful  woman  prophesied?" 

"I  don't  blame  you  for  running,"  he  said, 
stunned. 

"I  do  not  blame  myself.  I  ran.  I  fled,  dis 
tracted,  from  that  terrible  house!  I  left  word 
for  my  maid  to  pack  and  follow  me  to  Ormond. 
I  caught  the  first  train  I  could  catch.  For  the 
next  three  months  I  propose  to  continue  my  flight 
if — if  necessary.  And  I  fear  it  will  be  neces 


sary." 


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"Finding  his  overcoat  in  your  stateroom  must 
have  been  a  dreadful  shock  to  you,"  he  said,  pity 
ingly. 

"Imagine!  But  when,  not  an  hour  ago,  I  saw 
his  name  on  the  register  at  the  Hotel  Royal  Or 
chid — directly  under  my  name! — can  you — oh, 
can  you  imagine  my  utter  terror?" 

Her  voice  broke  and  she  leaned  up  against  the 
side  of  the  car,  so  white,  so  quivering,  so  utterly 
demoralised  by  fear,  that,  alarmed,  he  took  her 
trembling  hands  firmly  in  his. 

"You  mustn't  give  way,"  he  said.  "This  won't 
do.  You  must  show  courage." 

"How  can  I  show  courage  when  I'm  f-fright- 
ened?" 

"You  must  not  be  frightened,  because — because 
I  am  going  to  stand  by  you.  I  am  going  to  stand 
by  you  very  firmly.  I  am  going  to  see  this  mat 
ter  through." 

"Are  you?  It  is  so — so  kind  of  you — so  good 
— so  generous.  .  .  .  Because  it's  uncanny  enough 
to  frighten  even  a  man.  You  see  we  don't  know 
what  we're  fighting.  We're  threatened  by — by  the 
occult!  By  unseen  f-forces.  .  .  .  How  could 
that  man  be  in  St.  Augustine?" 

He  drew  a  long  breath.    "I  am  going  to  tell  you 
something.  .  .  .     May  I?" 
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Quick   Action 


She  turned  in  silence  to  look  at  him.  Some 
thing  in  his  eyes  disturbed  her,  and  he  felt  her 
little,  gloved  hands  tighten  spasmodically  within 
his  own. 

"It  isn't  anything  to  frighten  you,"  he  said. 
"It  may  even  relieve  you.  Shall  I  tell  you?" 

Her  lips  formed  a  voiceless  word  of  consent. 

"Then  I'll  tell  you.  ...  I  know  George  Z. 
Green." 

"W-what?" 

"I  know  him  very  well.  He  is — is  an  exceed 
ingly — er — nice  fellow." 

"But  I  don't  care !  I'm  not  going  to  marry 
him!  .  .  .  Am  I?  Do  you  think  I  am?" 

And  she  fell  a-trembling  so  violently  that, 
alarmed,  he  drew  her  to  his  shoulder,  soothing  her 
like  a  child,  explaining  that  in  the  twentieth  cen 
tury  no  girl  was  going  to  marry  anybody  against 
her  will. 

Like  a  child  she  cowered  against  him,  her  hands 
tightening  within  his.  The  car  swayed  and 
rattled  on  its  clanging  trucks ;  the  feeble  lamp 
glimmered. 

"If  I  thought,"  she  said,  "that  George  Z.  Green 

was  destined  to  marry  me  under  such  outrageous 

and    humiliating    circumstances,    I — I    believe    I 

would  marry  the  first  decent  man  I  encountered — 

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merely  to  confound  the  Princess  Zimbamzim — and 
every  wicked  crystal-gazer  in  the  world !  I — I 
simply  hate  them!" 

He  said :    "Then  you  believe  in  them." 

"How  can  I  help  it?  Look  at  me !  Look  at  me 
here,  in  full  light — asking  protection  of  you !  .  .  . 
And  I  don't  care !  I — think  I  am  becoming  more 
angry  than — than  frightened.  I  think  it  is  your 
kindness  that  has  given  me  courage.  Somehow,  I 
feel  safe  with  you.  I  am  sure  that  I  can  rely  on 
you;  can't  I?" 

"Yes,"  he  said  miserably. 

"I  was  very  sure  I  could  when  I  saw  you  sit 
ting  there  on  the  platform  before  the  milk-train 
came  in.  ...  I  don't  know  how  it  was — I  was 
not  afraid  to  speak  to  you.  .  .  .  Something 
about  you  made  me  confident.  ...  I  said  to  my 
self,  'He  is  good!  I  know  it !'  And  so  I  spoke 
to  you." 

Conscience  was  tearing  him  inwardly  to  shreds, 
as  the  fox  tore  the  Spartan.  How  could  he  pose 
as  the  sort  of  man  she  believed  him  to  be,  and 
endure  the  self-contempt  now  almost  overwhelming 
him? 

"I — I'm  not  good,"  he  blurted  out,  miserably. 

She  turned  and  looked  at  him  seriously  for  a 
moment.  Then,  for  the  first  time  aware  of  his 


Quick   Action 


arm  encircling  her,  and  her  hands  in  his,  she 
flushed  brightly  and  freed  herself,  straightening 
up  in  her  little  wooden  chair. 

"You  need  not  tell  me  that,"  she  said.  "I  know 
you  are  good." 

"As  a  m-matter  of  f-fact,"  he  stammered.  "I'm 
a  scoundrel!" 

"What?" 

"I  can't  bear  to  have  you  know  it — b-but  I 
am!" 

"How  can  you  say  that? — when  you've  been  so 
perfectly  sweet  to  me?"  she  exclaimed. 

And  after  a  moment's  silence  she  laughed  de- 
liciously. 

"Only  to  look  at  you  is  enough,"  she  said,  "for 
a  girl  to  feel  absolute  confidence  in  you." 

"Do  you  feel  that?" 

"I?  .  .  .  Yes.  .  .  .  Yes,  I  do.  I  would  trust 
you  without  hesitation.  I  have  trusted  you,  have 
I  not?  And  after  all,  it  is  not  so  strange.  You 
are  the  sort  of  man  to  whom  I  am  accustomed. 
We  are  both  of  the  same  sort." 

"No,"  he  said  gloomily,  "I'm  really  a  pari 
ah." 

"You!  Why  do  you  say  such  things,  after 
you  have  been  so — perfectly  charming  to  a  fright 
ened  girl?" 

242 


Quick   Action 


"I'm  a  pariah,"  he  repeated.  "I'm  a  social  out 
cast!  I — I  know  it,  now."  And  he  leaned  his 
head  wearily  on  both  palms. 

The  girl  looked  at  him  in  consternation. 

"Are  you  unhappy?"  she  asked. 

"Wretched." 

"Oh,"  she  said  softly,  "I  didn't  know  that.  .  .  . 
I  am  so  sorry.  .  .  .  And  to  think  that  you  took 
all  my  troubles  on  your  shoulders,  too, — burdened 
with  your  own!  I — I  If  new  you  were  that  kind 
of  man,"  she  added  warmly. 

He  only  shook  his  head,  face  buried  in  his 
hands. 

"I  am  so  sorry,"  she  repeated  gently.  "Would 
it  help  you  if  you  told  me?" 

He  did  not  answer. 

"Because,"  she  said  sweetly,  "it  would  make  me 
very  happy  if  I  could  be  of  even  the  very  slight 
est  use  to  you !" 

No  response. 

"Because  you  have  been  so  kind." 

No  response. 
— And  so  p-pleasant  and  c-cordial  and " 

No  response. 

She  looked  at  the  young  fellow  who  sat  there 
with  head  bowed  in  his  hands ;  and  her  blue  eyes 
grew  wistful. 

243 


Quick   Action 


"Are  you  in  physical  pain?" 

"Mental,"  he  said  in  a  muffled  voice. 

"I  am  sorry.  Don't  you  believe  that  I  am?" 
she  asked  pitifully. 

"You  would  not  be  sorry  if  you  knew  why  I  am 
suffering,"  he  muttered. 

"How  can  you  say  that?"  she  exclaimed  warm 
ly.  "Do  you  think  I  am  ungrateful?  Do  you 
think  I  am  insensible  to  delicate  and  generous 
emotions?  Do  you  suppose  I  could  ever  forget 
what  you  have  done  for  me  ?" 

"Suppose,"  he  said  in  a  muffled  voice,  "I  turned 
out  to  be  a — a  villain?" 

"You  couldn't !" 

"Suppose  it  were  true  that  I  am  one?" 

She  said,  with  the  warmth  of  total  inexperience 
with  villains,  "What  you  have  been  to  me  is  only 
what  concerns  me.  You  have  been  good,  generous, 
noble!  And  I — like  you." 

"You  must  not  like  me." 

"I  do!  I  do  like  you!  I  shall  continue  to  do 
so — always 

"You  can  not !" 

"What  ?  Indeed  I  can !  I  like  you  very  much. 
I  defy  you  to  prevent  me!" 

"I  don't  want  to  prevent  you — but  you  mustn't 
do  it." 

244 


Quick   Action 


She  sat  silent  for  a  moment.  Then  her  lip 
trembled. 

"Why  may  I  not  like  you?"  she  asked  unstead- 

ay. 

"I  am  not  worth  it." 

He  didn't  know  it,  but  he  had  given  her  the 
most  fascinating  answer  that  a  man  can  give  a 
young  girl. 

"If  you  are  not  worth  it,"  she  said  tremulously, 
"you  can  become  so." 

"No,  I  never  can." 

"Why  do  you  say  that?  No  matter  what  a 
man  has  done — a  young  man — such  as  you — he 
can  become  worthy  again  of  a  girl's  friendship — 
if  he  wishes  to." 

"I  never  could  become  worthy  of  yours." 

"Why?  What  have  you  done?  I  don't  care 
anyway.  If  you — if  you  want  my — my  friend 
ship  you  can  have  it." 

"No,"  he  groaned,  "I  am  sunk  too  low  to  even 
dream  of  it!  You  don't  know — you  don't  know 
what  you're  saying.  I  am  beyond  the  pale !" 

He  clutched  his  temples  and  shuddered.  For  a 
moment  she  gazed  at  him  piteously,  then  her  timid 
hand  touched  his  arm. 

"I  can't  bear  to  see  you  in  despair,"  she  fal 
tered,  " — you  who  have  been  so  good  to  me. 
245 


Quick   Action 


Please  don't  be  unhappy — because — I  want  you 
to  be  happy " 

"I  can  never  be  that." 

"Why?" 

"Because — I  am  in  love!" 

"What?" 

"With  a  girl  who — hates  me." 

"Oh,"  she  said  faintly.  Then  the  surprise  in 
her  eyes  faded  vaguely  into  wistfulness,  and  into 
something  almost  tender  as  she  gazed  at  his  bowed 
head. 

"Any  girl,"  she  said,  scarcely  knowing  what 
she  was  saying,  "who  could  not  love  such  a  man 
as  you  is  an  absolutely  negligible  quantity." 

His  hands  fell  from  his  face  and  he  sat  up. 

"Could  you?" 

"What?"  she  said,  not  understanding. 

"Could  you  do  what — what  I — mentioned  just 
now?" 

She  looked  curiously  at  him  for  a  moment,  not 
comprehending.  Suddenly  a  rose  flush  stained 
her  face. 

"I  don't  think  you  mean  to  say  that  to  me," 
she  said  quietly. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "I  do  mean  to  say  it.   ...    Be 
cause,  since  I  first  saw  you,  I  have — have  dared 
to — to  be  in  love  with  you." 
246 


Quick   Action 


"With  me!     We — you  have  not  known  me  an 
hour!" 

"I  have  known  you  three  days." 

"What?" 

"/  am  George  Z.  Green !" 


XXV 

MINUTE  after  minute  throbbed  in  silence, 
timed  by  the  loud  rhythm  of  the  roaring 
wheels.     He  did  not  dare  lift  his  head  to 
look    at    her,    though    her    stillness    scared    him. 
Awful  and  grotesque  thoughts  assailed  him.     He 
wondered  whether   she  had   survived   the   blow — 
and  like  an  assassin  he  dared  not  look  to  see  what 
he   had   done,   but    crouched   there,    overwhelmed 
with   misery    such   as    he   never   dreamed   that   a 
human  heart  could  endure. 

A  century  seemed  to  have  passed  before,  far 
ahead,  the  locomotive  whistled  warningly  for  the 
Ormond  station. 

He  understood  what  it  meant,  and  clutched  his 
temples,  striving  to  gather  courage  sufficient  to 
248 


Quick   Action 


lift  his  head  and  face  her  blazing  contempt — or 
her  insensible  and  inanimate  but  beautiful  young 
form  lying  in  a  merciful  faint  on  the  floor  of  the 
baggage  car. 

And  at  last  he  lifted  his  head. 

She  had  risen  and  was  standing  by  the  locked 
side  doors,  touching  her  eye-lashes  with  her  hand 
kerchief. 

When  he  rose,  the  train  was  slowing  down. 
Presently  the  baggage  master  came  in,  yawning; 
the  side  doors  were  unbolted  and  flung  back  as 
the  car  glided  along  a  high,  wooden  platform. 

They  were  standing  side  by  side  now;  she  did 
not  look  at  him,  but  when  the  car  stopped  she  laid 
her  hand  lightly  on  his  arm. 

Trembling  in  every  fibre,  he  drew  the  little, 
gloved  hand  through  his  arm  and  aided  her  to  de 
scend. 

"Are  you  unhappy?"  he  whispered  tremulously. 

"No.  .  .  .     What  are  we  to  do?" 

"Am  I  to  say?" 

"Yes,"  she  said  faintly. 

"Shall  I  register  as  your  brother?" 

She  blushed  and  looked  at  him  in  a  lovely  and 
distressed  way. 

"What  are  we  to  do?"  she  faltered. 

They  entered  the  main  hall  of  the  great  hotel 
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at  that  moment,  and  she  turned  to  look  around  her. 

"Oh!"  she  exclaimed,  clutching  his  arm.  "Do 
you  see  that  man?  Do  you  see  him?" 

"Which  man — dearest? " 

"That  one  over  there !  That  is  the  clergyman 
I  saw  in  the  crystal.  Oh,  dear !  Oh,  dear !  Is  it 
going  to  come  true  right  away?" 

"I  think  it  is,"  he  said.     "Are  you  afraid?" 

She  drew  a  deep,  shuddering  breath,  lifted  her 
eyes  to  his: 

"N-no,"  she  said. 

Ten  minutes  later  it  was  being  done  around 
the  corner  of  the  great  veranda,  where  nobody 
was.  The  moon  glimmered  on  the  Halifax;  the 
palmettos  sighed  in  the  chilly  sea-wind;  the  still, 
night  air  was  scented  with  orange  bloom  and  the 
odour  of  the  sea. 

He  wore  his  overcoat,  and  he  used  the  plain, 
gold  band  which  had  decorated  his  little  finger. 
The  clergyman  was  brief  and  businesslike;  the 
two  clerks  made  dignified  witnesses. 

When  it  was  done,  and  they  were  left  alone, 
standing  on  the  moonlit  veranda,  he  said: 

"Shall  we  send  a  present  to  the  Princess  Zim- 
bamzim?" 

"Yes.  ...    A  beautiful  one." 

He  drew  her  to  him;  she  laid  both  hands  on 
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his  shoulders.     When  he  kissed  her,  her  face  was 
cold  and  white  as  marble. 

"Are  you  afraid?"  he  whispered. 

The  marble  flushed  pink. 

"No,"  she  said. 


"That,"  said  Stafford,  "was  certainly  quick 
action.  Ten  minutes  is  a  pretty  short  time  for 
Fate  to  begin  business." 

"Fate,"  remarked  Duane,  "once  got  busy  with 
me  inside  of  ten  seconds."  He  looked  at  Athalie. 

"Ut  solent  poetae,"  she  rejoined,  calmly. 

I  said:  "Verba  placent  et  vox,  et  quod  cor- 
rumpere  non  est;  Quoque  minor  spes  est,  hoc 
magis  ille  cupit." 

In  a  low  voice  Duane  replied  to  me,  looking  at 
her:  "Vera  incessu  patuit  Dea" 

Slowly  the  girl  blushed,  lowering  her  dark  eyes 
to  the  green  jade  god  resting  in  the  rosy  palm 
of  her  left  hand. 

"Physician,  cure  thyself,"  muttered  Stafford, 
slowly  twisting  a  cigarette  to  shreds  in  his  nerv 
ous  hands. 

I  rose,  walked  over  to  the  small  marble  foun 
tain  and  looked  down  at  the  sleeping  gold-fish. 
Here  and  there  from  the  dusky  magnificence  of 
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their  colour  a  single  scale  glittered  like  a  living 
spark  under  water. 

"Are  you  preaching  to  them?"  asked  Athalie, 
raising  her  eyes  from  the  green  god  in  her  palm. 

"No  matter  where  a  man  turns  his  eyes,"  said 
I,  "they  may  not  long  remain  undisturbed  by  the 
vision  of  gold.  I  was  not  preaching,  Athalie;  I 
was  reflecting  upon  my  poverty." 

"It  is  an  incurable  ailment,"  said  somebody; 
"the  millionaire  knows  it ;  the  gods  themselves  suf 
fered  from  it.  From  the  bleaching  carcass  of  the 
peon  to  the  mausoleum  of  the  emperor,  the  world's 
highway  winds  through  its  victims'  graves." 

"Athalie,"  said  I,  "is  it  possible  for  you  to  look 
into  your  crystal  and  discover  hidden  treasure?" 

"Not  for  my  own  benefit." 

"For  others?" 

"I  have  done  it." 

"Could  you  locate  a  few  millions  for  us?"  in 
quired  the  novelist. 

"Yes,  widely  distributed  among  you.  Your 
right  hand  is  heavy  as  gold;  your  brain  jingles 
with  it." 

"I  do  not  write  for  money,"  he  said  bluntly. 

"That  is  why,"  she  said,  smiling  and  placing  a 
sweetmeat  between  her  lips. 

I  had  the  privilege  of  lighting  a  match  for  her. 
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XXVI 

WHEN     the   tip  of  her     cigarette  glowed 
rosy    in    the    pearl-tinted    gloom,    the 
shadowy    circle    at    her    feet    drew    a 
little  nearer. 

"This  is  the  story  of  Valdez,"  she  said.    "Lis 
ten  attentively,  you  who  hunger!" 


On  the  first  day  it  rained  torrents ;  the  light  was 
very  dull  in  the  galleries;  fashion  kept  away. 
Only  a  few  monomaniacs  braved  the  weather,  left 
dripping  mackintoshes  and  umbrellas  in  the  coat 
room,  and  spent  the  dull  March  morning  in  mous 
ing  about  among  the  priceless  treasures  on  view 
to  those  who  had  cards  of  admission.  The  sale 
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was  to  take  place  three  days  later.  Heikem  was 
the  auctioneer. 

The  collection  to  be  disposed  of  was  the  cele 
brated  library  of  Professor  Octavo  de  Folio — a 
small  one ;  but  it  was  composed  almost  exclusively 
of  rarities.  A  million  and  a  half  had  been  re 
fused  by  the  heirs,  who  preferred  to  take  chances 
at  auction. 

And  there  were  Caxtons,  first  edition  Shakes- 
peares,  illuminated  manuscripts,  volumes  printed 
privately  for  various  kings  and  queens,  bound 
sketch  books  containing  exquisite  aquarelles  and 
chalk  drawings  by  Bargue,  Fortuny,  Drouais, 
Boucher,  John  Downman ;  there  were  autographed 
monographs  in  manuscript;  priceless  order  books 
of  revolutionary  generals,  private  diaries  kept  by 
men  and  women  celebrated  and  notorious  the  world 
over. 

But  the  heirs  apparently  preferred  yachts  and 
automobiles. 

The  library  was  displayed  in  locked  glass  cases, 
an  attendant  seated  by  each  case,  armed  with  a 
key  and  discretionary  powers. 

From  where  James  White  sat  beside  his  par 
ticular  case,  he  had  a  view  of  the  next  case  and 
of  the  young  girl  seated  beside  it. 

She  was  very  pretty.  No  doubt,  being  out  of 
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a  job,  like  himself,  she  was  glad  to  take  this 
temporary  position.  She  was  so  pretty  she  made 
his  head  ache.  Or  it  might  have  been  the  venti 
lation. 

It  rained  furiously;  a  steady  roar  on  the  glass 
roof  overhead  filled  the  long  and  almost  empty 
gallery  of  Mr.  Heikem,  the  celebrated  auctioneer, 
with  a  monotone  as  dull  and  incessant  as  the  busi 
ness  voice  of  that  great  man. 

Here  and  there  a  spectacled  old  gentleman 
nosed  his  way  from  case  to  case,  making  at  inter 
vals  cabalistic  pencil  marks  on  the  margin  of  his 
catalogue — which  specimen  of  compiled  literature 
alone  cost  five  dollars. 

It  was  a  very  dull  day  for  James  White,  and 
also,  apparently,  for  the  pretty  girl  in  charge  of 
the  adjoining  case.  Nobody  even  asked  either  of 
them  to  unlock  the  cases ;  and  it  began  to  appear 
to  young  White  that  the  books  and  manuscripts 
confided  to  his  charge  were  not  by  any  means  the 
chefs-d'oeuvre  of  the  collection. 

They  were  a  dingy  looking  lot  of  books,  any 
way.  He  glanced  over  the  private  list  furnished 
him,  read  the  titles,  histories  and  pedigrees  of 
the  volumes,  stifled  a  yawn,  fidgetted  in  his  chair, 
stared  at  the  rain-battered  glass  roof  overhead, 
mused  lightly  upon  his  misfortunes,  shrugged  his 
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broad  shoulders,  and  glanced  at  the  girl  across 
the  aisle. 

She  also  was  reading  her  private  list.  It 
seemed  to  bore  her. 

He  looked  at  her  as  long  as  decency  permitted, 
then  gazed  elsewhere.  She  was  exceedingly  pretty 
in  her  way,  red  haired,  white  skinned;  and  her 
eyes  seemed  to  be  a  very  lovely  Sevres  blue.  Ex 
cept  in  porcelain  he  thought  he  had  never  seen 
anything  as  dainty.  He  knew  perfectly  well  that 
he  could  very  easily  fall  in  love  with  her.  Also 
he  knew  he'd  never  have  the  opportunity. 

Duller  and  duller  grew  the  light ;  louder  roared 
the  March  rain.  Even  monomaniacs  no  longer 
came  into  the  galleries,  and  the  half  dozen  who 
had  arrived  left  by  luncheon  time. 

When  it  was  White's  turn  to  go  out  to  lunch, 
he  went  to  Childs'  and  returned  in  half  an  hour. 
Then  the  girl  across  the  aisle  went  out — probably 
to  a  similar  and  sumptuous  banquet.  She  came 
back  very  shortly,  reseated  herself,  and  glanced 
around  the  empty  galleries. 

There  seemed  to  be  absolutely  nothing  for  any 
body  to  do,  except  to  sit  there  and  listen  to  the 
rain. 

White  pondered  on  his  late  failure  in  affairs. 
Recently  out  of  Yale,  and  more  recently  still 
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established  in  business,  he  had  gone  down  in  the 
general  slump,  lacking  sufficient  capital  to  tide 
him  over.  His  settlement  with  his  creditors  left 
him  with  fifteen  hundred  dollars.  He  was  now 
waiting  for  an  opportunity  to  invest  it  in  an  en 
terprise.  He  believed  in  enterprises.  Also,  he 
was  firmly  convinced  that  Opportunity  knocked 
no  more  than  once  in  a  lifetime,  and  he  was  always 
cocking  his  ear  to  catch  the  first  timid  rap.  It 
was  knocking  then  but  he  did  not  hear  it,  for  it 
was  no  louder  than  the  gentle  beating  of  his  red- 
haired  neighbour's  heart. 

But  Opportunity  is  a  jolly  jade.  She  knocks 
every  little  while — but  one  must  possess  good 
hearing. 

Having  nothing  better  to  do  as  he  sat  there, 
White  drifted  into  mental  speculation — that  being 
the  only  sort  available. 

He  dreamed  of  buying  a  lot  in  New  York  for 
fifteen  hundred  dollars  and  selling  it  a  few  years 
later  for  fifty  thousand.  He  had  a  well  developed 
imagination;  wonderful  were  the  lucky  strikes  he 
made  in  these  day  dreams ;  marvellous  the  financial 
returns.  He  was  a  very  Napoleon  of  finance  when 
he  was  dozing.  Many  are. 

The  girl  across  the  aisle  also  seemed  to  be  im 
mersed  in  day  dreams.  Her  Sevres  blue  eyes,  had 
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become  vague;  her  listless  little  hands  lay  in  her 
lap  unstirring.  She  was  pleasant  to  look  at. 

After  an  hour  or  so  it  was  plain  to  White  that 
she  had  had  enough  of  her  dreams.  She  sighed 
very  gently,  straightened  up  in  her  chair,  looked 
at  the  rain-swept  roof,  patted  a  yawn  into  modest 
suppression,  and  gazed  about  her  with  speculative 
and  engaging  eyes. 

Then,  as  though  driven  to  desperation,  she 
turned,  looked  into  the  glass  case  beside  her  for  a 
few  minutes,  and  then,  fitting  her  key  to  the  door, 
opened  it,  selected  a  volume  at  hazard,  and  com 
posed  herself  to  read. 

For  a  while  White  watched  her  lazily,  but  pres 
ently  with  more  interest,  as  her  features  gradually 
grew  more  animated  and  her  attention  seemed  to 
be  concentrated  on  the  book. 

As  the  minutes  passed  it  became  plain  to  White 
that  the  girl  found  the  dingy  little  volume  ex 
ceedingly  interesting.  And  after  a  while  she  ap 
peared  to  be  completely  absorbed  in  it;  her  blue 
eyes  were  rivetted  on  the  pages ;  her  face  was 
flushed,  her  sensitive  lips  expressive  of  the  emo 
tion  that  seemed  to  be  possessing  her  more  and 
more. 

White  wondered  what  this  book  might  be  which 
she  found  so  breathlessly  interesting.  It  was 
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small,  dingy,  bound  in  warped  covers  of  old 
leather,  and  anything  but  beautiful.  And  by  and 
by  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  title — "The  Jour 
nal  of  Pedro  Valdez." 

The  title,  somehow,  seemed  to  be  familiar  to 
him ;  he  glanced  into  his  own  case,  and  after  a 
few  minutes'  searching  he  caught  sight  of  another 
copy  of  the  same  book,  dingy,  soiled,  leather- 
bound,  unlovely. 

He  looked  over  his  private  list  until  he  found 
it.  And  this  is  what  he  read  concerning  it: 

Valdez,  Pedro — Journal  of.  Translated  by  Thomas 
Bangs,  of  Philadelphia,  in  1760.  With  map.  Two 
copies,  much  -worn  and  damaged  by  water.  Several 
pages  missing  from  each  book. 

'  Pedro  Valdez  was  a  soldier  of  fortune  serving  with 
Cortez  in  Mexico  and  with  De  Soto  in  Florida.  Noth 
ing  more  is  known  of  him,  except  that  he  perished 
somewhere  in  the  semi-tropical  forests  of  America. 

Thomas  Bangs,  an  Englishman,  pretended  to  have 
discovered  and  translated  the  journal  kept  by  Valdez. 
After  the  journal  had  been  translated — if,  indeed, 
such  a  document  ever  really  existed — Bangs  pre 
tended  that  it  was  accidentally  destroyed. 

Bangs'  translation  and  map  are  considered   to  be 
works  of  pure   imagination.      They  were   published 
from    manuscript    after    the    death    of    the    author. 
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Bangs  died  in  St.  Augustine  of  yellow  fever,  about 
1760-61,  while  preparing  for  an  exploring  expedition 
into  the  Florida  wilderness. 

Mildly  edified,  White  glanced  again  at  the  girl 
across  the  aisle,  and  was  surprised  to  see  how 
her  interest  in  the  volume  had  altered  her  features. 
Tense,  breathless,  utterly  absorbed  in  the  book, 
she  bent  over  the  faded  print,  leaning  close,  for 
the  sickly  light  that  filtered  through  the  glass 
roof  scarcely  illumined  the  yellow  pages  at  all. 

The  curiosity  of  White  was  now  aroused;  he 
opened  the  glass  case  beside  him,  fished  out  his 
copy  of  the  book,  opened  it,  and  began  to  read. 

For  the  first  few  minutes  his  interest  was  any 
thing  but  deep :  he  read  the  well-known  pages 
where  Bangs  recounts  how  he  discovered  the  jour 
nal  of  Valdez — and  it  sounded  exceedingly  fishy — 
a  rather  poorly  written  fairy-tale  done  by  a  man 
with  little  invention  and  less  imagination,  so  worn 
out,  hackneyed  and  trite  were  the  incidents,  so 
obvious  the  coincidences. 

White  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  turned  from 
the  preface  to  what  purported  to  be  the  transla 
tion. 

Almost  immediately  it  struck  him  that  this  part 
of  the  book  was  not  written  by  the  same  man. 
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Here  was  fluency,  elegance  of  expression,  ease,  the 
simplicity  of  a  soldier  who  had  something  to  say 
and  but  a  short  time  in  which  to  say  it.  Even 
the  apparent  clumsiness  of  the  translation  had  not 
deformed  the  work. 

Little  by  little  the  young  man  became  intensely 
interested,  then  absorbed.  And  after  a  while  the 
colour  came  into  his  face;  he  glanced  nervously 
around  him ;  suppressed  excitement  made  his  hands 
unsteady  as  he  unfolded  the  enclosed  map. 

From  time  to  time  he  referred  to  the  map  as 
he  read;  the  rain  roared  on  the  glass  roof;  the 
light  grew  dimmer  and  dimmer. 

At  five  o'clock  the  galleries  closed  for  the  day. 
And  that  evening,  sitting  in  his  hall-bedroom, 
White  made  up  his  mind  that  he  must  buy  "The 
Journal  of  Valdez"  if  it  took  every  penny  that 
remained  to  him. 

The  next  day  was  fair  and  cold ;  fashion  graced 
the  Octavo  de  Folio  exhibition ;  White  had  no 
time  to  re-read  any  passages  or  to  re-examine  the 
map,  because  people  were  continually  asking  to 
see  and  handle  the  books  in  his  case. 

Across    the    aisle   he   noticed    that   his    pretty 

neighbour  was   similarly  occupied.     And  he  was 

rather  glad,  because  he  felt,  vaguely,  that  it  was 

just  as  well  she  did  not  occupy  her  time  in  read- 

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ing  "The  Journal  of  Valdez."  Girls  usually  have 
imagination.  The  book  might  stir  her  up  as  it 
had  stirred  him.  And  to  no  purpose. 

Also,  he  was  glad  that  nobody  asked  to  look  at 
the  Valdez  copy  in  his  own  case.  He  didn't  want 
people  to  look  at  it.  There  were  reasons — among 
others,  he  wanted  to  buy  it  himself.  He  meant  to 
if  fifteen  hundred  dollars  would  buy  it. 

White  had  not  the  remotest  idea  what  the  book 
might  bring  at  auction.  He  dared  not  inquire 
whether  the  volume  was  a  rare  one,  dreading  even 
to  call  the  attention  of  his  fellow  employees  to  it. 
A  word  might  arouse  their  curiosity. 

All  day  long  he  attended  to  his  duties  there, 
and  at  five  he  went  home,  highly  excited,  deter 
mined  to  arrive  at  the  galleries  next  morning  in 
time  enough  to  read  the  book  a  little  before  the 
first  of  the  public  came. 

And  he  did  get  there  very  early.  The  only 
other  employee  who  had  arrived  before  him  was 
the  red-haired  girl.  She  sat  by  her  case  reading 
"The  Journal  of  Valdez."  Once  she  looked  up  at 
him  with  calm,  clear,  intelligent  eyes.  He  did  not 
see  her;  he  hastily  unlocked  his  case  and  drew 
out  the  coveted  book.  Then  he  sat  down  and  be 
gan  to  devour  it.  And  so  utterly  and  instantly 
was  he  lost  amid  those  yellow,  time-faded  pages 
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that  he  did  not  even  glance  across  the  aisle  at  his 
ornamental  neighbour.  If  he  had  looked  he  would 
have  noticed  that  she  also  was  buried  in  "The 
Journal  of  Valdez."  And  it  might  have  made  him 
a  trifle  uneasy  to  see  her  look  from  her  book  to 
him  and  from  him  to  the  volume  he  was  perusing 
so  excitedly. 

It  being  the  last  day  that  the  library  was  to  be 
on  view  before  the  sale,  fashion  and  monomania 
rubbed  elbows  in  the  Heikem  Galleries,  crowding 
the  well  known  salons  morning  and  afternoon. 
And  all  day  long  White  and  his  neighbour  across 
the  aisle  were  busy  taking  out  books  and  manu 
scripts  for  inspection,  so  that  they  had  no  time 
for  luncheon,  and  less  for  Valdez. 

And  that  night  they  were  paid  off  and  dis 
missed  ;  and  the  auctioneer  and  his  corps  of  assist 
ants  took  charge. 

The  sale  took  place  the  following  morning  and 
afternoon.  White  drew  from  the  bank  his  fifteen 
hundred  dollars,  breakfasted  on  bread  and  milk, 
and  went  to  the  galleries  more  excited  than  he  had 
ever  been  before  in  his  long  life  of  twenty-three 
years.  And  that  is  some  time. 

It  was  a  long  shot  at  Fortune  he  meant  to  take 
— a  really  desperate  chance.  One  throw  would 
settle  it — win  or  lose.  And  the  idea  scared  him 
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badly,  and  he  was  trembling  a  little  when  he  took 
his  seat  amid  the  perfumed  gowns  of  fashion  and 
the  white  whiskers  of  high  finance,  and  the  shabby 
vestments  of  monomania. 

Once  or  twice  he  wondered  whether  he  was 
crazy.  Yet,  every  throb  of  his  fast-beating  heart 
seemed  to  summon  him  to  do  and  dare;  and  he 
felt,  without  even  attempting  to  explain  the  feel 
ing  to  himself,  that  now  at  last  Opportunity  was 
loudly  rapping  at  his  door,  and  that  if  he  did  not 
let  her  in  he  would  regret  it  as  long  as  he  lived. 

As  he  glanced  fearfully  about  him  he  caught 
sight  of  his  pretty  neighbour  who  had  held  sway 
across  the  aisle.  So  she,  too,  had  come  to  watch 
the  sale !  Probably  for  the  excitement  of  hearing 
an  auctioneer  talk  in  thousands. 

He  was  a  little  surprised,  nevertheless,  for  she 
did  not  look  bookish — nor  even  intellectual 
enough  to  mar  her  prettiness.  Yet,  wherever  she 
went  she  would  look  adorable.  He  understood 
that,  now. 

It  was  a  day  of  alarms  for  him,  of  fears,  shocks, 
and  frights  innumerable.  With  terror  he  heard 
the  auctioneer  talking  in  terms  of  thousands ; 
with  horror  he  witnessed  the  bids  on  certain  books 
advance  by  thousands  at  a  clip.  Five  thousand, 
ten  thousand,  twenty  thousand  were  bid,  seen, 
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raised,  called,  hiked,  until  his  head  spun  and  de 
spair  seized  him. 

What  did  he  know  about  Valdez?  Either  vol 
ume  might  bring  fifty  thousand  dollars  for  all  he 
knew.  Had  he  fifty  thousand  he  felt,  somehow, 
that  he  would  have  bid  it  to  the  last  penny  for 
the  book.  And  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  he 
was  really  crazy.  Yet  there  he  sat,  glued  to  his 
chair,  listening,  shuddering,  teeth  alternately 
chattering  or  grimly  locked,  while  the  very  air 
seemed  to  reek  of  millions,  and  the  incessant  gab 
ble  of  the  auctioneer  drove  him  almost  out  of  his 
wits. 

Nearer  and  nearer  approached  the  catalogued 
numbers  of  the  two  copies  of  Valdez;  pale  and 
desperate  he  sat  there,  his  heart  almost  suffocat 
ing  him  as  the  moment  drew  near.  And  now  the 
time  had  come;  now  the  celebrated  Mr.  Heikem 
began  his  suave  preliminary  chatter;  now  he  was 
asking  confidently  for  a  bid. 

A  silence  ensued — and  whether  it  was  the  silence 
of  awe  at  the  priceless  treasure  or  the  silence  of 
indifference  White  did  not  know.  But  after  the 
auctioneer  had  again  asked  for  a  bid  he  found  his 
voice  and  offered  ten  dollars.  His  ears  were  scar 
let  when  he  did  it. 

"Fifteen,"  said  a  sweet  but  tremulous  voice  not 
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far  from  White,  and  he  looked  around  in  aston 
ishment.  It  was  his  red-haired  vis-a-vis. 

"Twenty !"  he  retorted,  still  labouring  under 
his  astonishment. 

"Twenty-five !"  came  the  same  sweet  voice. 

There  was  a  silence.  No  other  voices  said  any 
thing.  Evidently  nobody  wanted  Valdez  except 
himself  and  his  red-haired  neighbour. 

"Thirty !"  he  called  out  at  the  psychological 
moment. 

The  girl  turned  in  her  chair  and  looked  at  him. 
She  seemed  to  be  unusually  pale. 

"Thirty-five !"  she  said,  still  gazing  at  White 
in  a  frightened  sort  of  way. 

"Forty,"  he  said ;  rose  at  the  same  moment  and 
walked  over  to  where  the  girl  was  sitting. 

She  looked  up  at  him  as  he  bent  over  her  chair ; 
both  were  very  serious. 

"You  and  I  are  the  only  two  people  bidding," 
he  said.  "There  are  two  copies  of  the  book. 
Don't  bid  against  me  and  you  can  buy  in  the  other 
one  for  next  to  nothing — judging  from  the  course 
this  one  is  taking." 

"Very  well,"  she  said  quietly. 

A  moment  later  the  first  copy  of  Valdez  was 
knocked  down  to  James  White.  An  indifferent 
audience  paid  little  attention  to  the  transaction. 
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Two  minutes  later  the  second  copy  fell  to  Miss 
Jean  Sandys  for  five  dollars — there  being  no  other 
bidder. 

White  had  already  left  the  galleries.  Linger 
ing  at  the  entrance  he  saw  Miss  Sandys  pass  him, 
and  he  lifted  his  hat.  The  slightest  inclination 
of  her  pretty  head  acknowledged  it.  The  next 
moment  they  were  lost  to  each  other's  view  in  the 
crowded  street. 

Clutching  his  battered  book  to  his  chest,  not 
even  daring  to  drop  it  into  his  overcoat  for  fear 
of  pickpockets,  the  young  fellow  started  up 
Broadway  at  a  swinging  pace  which  presently 
brought  him  to  the  offices  of  the  Florida  Spanish 
Grants  Company ;  and  here,  at  his  request,  he  was 
ushered  into  a  private  room;  a  map  of  Seminole 
County  spread  on  the  highly  polished  table  be 
fore  him,  and  a  suave  gentleman  placed  at  his 
disposal. 

"Florida,"  volunteered  the  suave  gentleman,  "is 
the  land  of  perpetual  sunshine — the  land  of  milk 
and  honey,  as  it  were,  the  land  of  the  orange " 

"One  moment,  please,"  said  White. 

"Sir?" 

They  looked  at  each  other  for  a  second  or  two, 
then  White  smiled: 

"I  don't  want  dope,"  he  said  pleasantly,  "I 
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merely  want  a  few  facts — if  your  company  deals 
in  them." 

"Florida,"  began  the  suave  gentleman,  watch 
ing  the  effect  of  his  words,  "is  the  garden  of  the 
world."  Then  he  stopped,  discouraged,  for  White 
was  grinning  at  him. 

"It  won't  do,"  said  White  amiably. 

"No?"  queried  the  suave  gentleman,  the  ghost 
of  a  grin  on  his  own  smooth  countenance. 

"No,  it  won't  do.  Now,  if  you  will  restrain 
your  very  natural  enthusiasm  and  let  me  ask  a 
few  questions " 

"Go  ahead,"  said  the  suave  gentleman,  whose 
name  was  Munsell.  "But  I  don't  believe  we  have 
anything  to  suit  you  in  Seminole  County." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  returned  White  coolly,  "is 
it  all  under  water?" 

"There  are  a  few  shell  mounds.  The  highest  is 
nearly  ten  inches  above  water.  We  call  them  hills." 

"I  might  wish  to  acquire  one  of  those  mountain 
ranges,"  remarked  White  seriously. 

After  a  moment  they  both  laughed. 

"Are  you  in  the  game  yourself?"  inquired  Mr. 
Munsell. 

"Well,  my  game  is  a  trifle  different." 

"Oh.     Do  you  care  to  be  more  explicit?" 

White  shook  his  head: 
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"No;  what's  the  use?  But  I'll  say  this:  it  isn't 
the  'Perpetual  Sunshine  and  Orange  Grove'  game, 
or  how  to  become  a  millionaire  in  three  years." 

"No?"  grinned  Munsell,  lifting  his  expressive 
eyebrows. 

White  bent  over  the  map  for  a  few  moments. 

"Here,"  he  said  carelessly,  "is  the  Spanish 
Causeway  and  the  Coakachee  River.  It's  all 
swamp  and  jungle,  I  suppose — although  I  see  you 
have  it  plotted  into  orange  groves,  truck  gardens, 
pineapple  plantations,  and  villas." 

Munsell  made  a  last  but  hopeless  effort. 
"Some  day,"  he  began,  with  dignity — but  White's 
calm  wink  discouraged  further  attempts.  Then 
the  young  man  tapped  with  his  pencil  lots  num 
bered  from  200  to  210,  slowly,  going  over  them 
again  for  emphasis. 

"Are  those  what  you  want  ?"  asked  Munsell. 

"Those  are  what  I  want." 

"All  right.     Only  I  can't  give  you  210." 

"Why  not?" 

"Yesterday  a  party  took  a  strip  along  the 
Causeway  including  half  of  210  up  to  220." 

"Can't  I  get  all  of  210?" 

"I'll  ask  the  party.   Where  can  I  address  you?" 

White  stood  up.    "Have  everything  ready  Tues 
day.     I'll  be  in  with  the  cash." 
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XXVII 

AND  on  Tuesday  he  kept  his  word  and  the 
land  was  his  for  a  few  hundred  dollars — 
all  except  the  half  of  Lot  No.  210,  which 
it  appeared  the  "party"  declined  to  sell,  refusing 
to  consider  any  profit  whatever. 

"It's  like  a  woman,"  remarked  Munsell. 

"Is  your  'party'  a  woman?" 

"Yes.  I  guess  she's  into  some  game  or  other, 
too.  Say,  what  is  this  Seminole  County  game, 
Mr.  White? — if  you  don't  mind  my  asking,  now 
that  you  have  taken  title  to  your — h'm! — orange 
grove." 

"Why  do  you  think  there  is  any  particu 
lar  game  afoot?"  inquired  the  young  man  curi 
ously. 

"Oh,  come !  You  know  what  you're  buying. 
And  that  young  lady  knew,  too.  You've  both 
bought  a  few  acres  of  cypress  swamp  and  you 
know  it.  What  do  you  think  is  in  it?" 

"Snakes,"  said  White  coolly. 
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"Oh,  /  know,"  said  Munsell.  "You  think  there's 
marl  and  phosphoric  rock." 

"And  isn't  there?"  asked  White  innocently. 

"How  should  /  know?"  replied  Munsell  as  in 
nocently;  the  inference  being  that  he  knew  per 
fectly  well  that  there  was  nothing  worth  purchas 
ing  in  the  Causeway  swamp. 

But  when  White  went  away  he  was  a  trifle  wor 
ried,  and  he  wondered  uneasily  why  anybody  else 
at  that  particular  time  should  happen  to  invest 
in  swampy  real  estate  along  the  Spanish  Cause 
way. 

He  knew  the  Spanish  Causeway.  In  youthful 
and  prosperous  days,  when  his  parents  were  alive, 
they  had  once  wintered  at  Verbena  Inlet. 

And  on  several  occasions  he  had  been  taken  on 
excursions  to  the  so-called  Spanish  Causeway — a 
dike-shaped  path,  partly  ruined,  made  of  marl 
and  shell,  which  traversed  the  endless  swamps  of 
Seminole  County,  and  was  supposed  to  have  been 
built  by  De  Soto  and  his  Spaniards. 

But  whoever  built  it,  Spaniard,  Seminole,  or 
the  prehistoric  people  antedating  both,  there  it 
still  was,  a  ruined  remnant  of  highway  penetrating 
the  otherwise  impassable  swamps. 

For  miles  across  the  wilderness  of  cypress, 
palmetto,  oak,  and  depthless  mud  it  stretched — a 
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crumbling  but  dry  runway  for  deer,  panther,  bear, 
black  wolf,  and  Seminole.  And  excursion  parties 
from  the  great  hotels  at  Verbena  often  picnicked 
at  its  intersection  with  the  forest  road,  but  ven 
tured  no  farther  along  the  dismal,  forbidding,  and 
snake-infested  ridge  which  ran  anywhere  between 
six  inches  and  six  feet  above  the  level  of  the  evil- 
looking  marsh  flanking  it  on  either  side. 

In  the  care-free  days  of  school,  of  affluence,  and 
of  youth,  White  had  been  taken  to  gaze  upon  this 
alleged  relic  of  Spanish  glory.  He  now  remem 
bered  it  very  clearly. 

And  that  night,  aboard  the  luxurious  Verbena 
Special,  he  lay  in  his  bunk  and  dreamed  dreams 
awake,  which  almost  overwhelmed  him  with  their 
magnificence.  But  when  he  slept  his  dreams  were 
uneasy,  interspersed  with  vague  visions  of  women 
who  came  in  regiments  through  flowering  jungles 
to  drive  him  out  of  his  own  property.  It  was  a 
horrid  sort  of  nightmare,  for  they  pelted  him  with 
iron-bound  copies  of  Valdez,  knocking  him  almost 
senseless  into  the  mud.  Aud  it  seemed  to  him 
that  he  might  have  perished  there  had  not  his  little 
red-haired  neighbour  extended  a  slender,  helping 
hand  in  the  nick  of  time. 

Dreaming  of  her  he  awoke,  still  shaking  with 
the  experience.  And  all  that  day  he  read  in  his 
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book  and  pored  over  the  map  attached  to  it,  until 
the  locomotive  whistled  for  St.  Augustine,  and 
he  was  obliged  to  disembark  for  the  night. 

However,  next  morning  he  was  on  his  way  to 
Verbena,  the  train  flying  through  a  steady  whirl 
wind  of  driving  sand.  And  everywhere  in  the  sun 
shine  stretched  the  flat-woods,  magnificently  green 
— endless  miles  of  pine  and  oak  and  palmetto,  set 
with  brilliant  glades  of  vast,  flat  fields  of  wild 
phlox  over  which  butterflies  hovered. 

At  Verbena  Station  he  disembarked  with  his 
luggage,  which  consisted  of  a  complete  tropical 
camping  outfit,  tinned  food,  shotgun,  rifle,  rods, 
spade,  shovel,  pick,  crow.  In  his  hand  he  car 
ried  an  innocent  looking  satchel,  gingerly.  It 
contained  dynamite  in  sticks,  and  the  means  to 
explode  it  safely. 

To  a  hackman  he  said:  "I'm  not  going  to  any 
hotel.  What  I  want  is  a  wagon,  a  team  of  mules, 
and  a  driver  to  take  me  and  my  outfit  to  Coaka- 
chee  Creek  on  the  Spanish  Causeway.  Can  you 
fix  it  for  me?" 

The  hackman  said  he  could.  And  in  half  an 
hour  he  drove  up  in  his  mule  wagon  to  the  de 
serted  station,  where  White  sat  all  alone  amid 
his  mountainous  paraphernalia. 

When  the  wagon  had  been  loaded,  and  they  had 
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been  driving  through  the  woods  for  nearly  half 
an  hour  in  silence,  the  driver's  curiosity  got  the 
better  of  him,  and  he  ventured  to  enquire  of  White 
why  everybody  was  going  to  the  Spanish  Cause 
way. 

Which  question  startled  the  young  man  very 
disagreeably  until  he  learned  that  "everybody" 
merely  meant  himself  and  one  other  person  taken 
thither  by  the  same  driver  the  day  before. 

Further,  he  learned  that  this  person  was  a 
woman  from  the  North,  completely  equipped  for 
camping  as  was  he.  Which  made  him  more  un 
easy  than  ever,  for  he  of  course  identified  her  with 
Mr.  Munsell's  client,  whose  land,  including  half 
of  Lot  210,  adjoined  his  own.  Who  she  might 
be  and  why  she  had  come  down  here  to  Seminole 
County  he  could  not  imagine,  because  Munsell  had 
intimated  that  she  knew  what  she  was  buying. 

No  doubt  she  meant  to  play  a  similar  game  to 
Munsell's,  and  had  come  down  to  take  a  look  at 
her  villainous  property  before  advertising  pos 
sibilities  of  perpetual  sunshine. 

Yet,  why  had  she  brought  a  camping  outfit? 
Ordinary  land  swindlers  remained  comfortably 
aloof  from  the  worthless  property  they  adver 
tised.  What  was  she  intending  to  do  there? 

Instead  of  a  swindler  was  she,  perhaps,  the 
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swindlee?  Had  she  bought  the  property  in  good 
faith?  Didn't  she  know  it  was  under  water?  Had 
she  come  down  here  with  her  pitiful  camping 
equipment  prepared  to  rough  it  and  set  out  orange 
trees?  Poor  thing! 

"Was  she  all  alone?"  he  inquired  of  his  cracker 
driver. 

"Yaas,  suh." 

"Poor  thing.  Did  she  seem  young  and  inex 
perienced  ?" 

"Yaas,  suh — 'scusin  she  all  has  right  smart  o* 
red  ha'r." 

"What?"  exclaimed  White  excitedly.  "You  say 
she  is  young,  and  that  she  seemed  inexperienced, 
except  for  her  red  hair !" 

"Yaas,  suh.  She  all  has  a  right  smart  hank  of 
red  ha'r  on  her  haid.  I  ain't  never  knowed  no 
body  with  red  ha'r  what  ain't  had  a  heap  mo* 
'sperience  than  the  mostest." 

"D-d-did  you  say  that  you  drove  her  over  to 
the  Spanish  Causeway  yesterday?"  stammered 
the  dismayed  young  man. 

"Yaas,  suh." 

Horrified  thoughts  filled  his  mind.  For  there 
could  be  scarcely  any  doubt  that  this  intruder  was 
his  red-haired  neighbour  across  the  aisle  at  the 
library  sale. 

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No  doubt  at  all  that  he  already  crossed  her  trail 
at  Munsell's  agency.  Also,  she  had  bid  in  one 
of  the  only  two  copies  of  Valdez. 

First  he  had  seen  her  reading  it  with  every 
symptom  of  profound  interest.  Then  she  had 
gone  to  the  sale  and  bid  in  one  of  the  copies. 
Then  he  had  heard  from  Munsell  about  a  woman 
who  had  bought  land  along  the  Causeway  the  day 
before  he  had  made  his  own  purchase. 

And  now  once  more  he  had  struck  her  swift, 
direct  trail,  only  to  learn  that  she  was  still  one 
day  in  advance  of  him ! 

In  his  mental  panic  he  remembered  that  his 
title  was  secure.  That  thought  comforted  him 
for  a  few  moments,  until  he  began  to  wonder 
whether  the  land  he  had  acquired  was  really  suffi 
cient  to  cover  a  certain  section  of  perhaps  half 
an  acre  along  the  Causeway. 

According  to  his  calculations  he  had  given  him 
self  ample  margin  in  every  direction,  for  the  spot 
he  desired  to  control  ought  to  lie  somewhere  about 
midway  between  Lot  200  and  Lot  210. 

Had  he  miscalculated?  Had  she  miscalculated? 
Why  had  she  purchased  that  strip  from  half  of 
Lot  210  to  Lot  220? 

There  could  be  only  one  answer:  this  clever 
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and  astoundingly  enterprising  young  girl  had 
read  Valdez,  had  decided  to  take  a  chance,  had 
proved  her  sporting  spirit  by  backing  her  judg 
ment,  and  had  started  straight  as  an  arrow  for 
the  terrifying  territory  in  question. 

Hers  had  been  first  choice  of  Mr.  Munsell's  Ipts ; 
she  had  deliberately  chosen  the  numbers  from 
half  of  210  to  220.  She  was  perfectly  ignorant 
that  he,  White,  had  any  serious  intentions  in 
Seminole  County.  Therefore,  it  had  been  her 
judgment,  based  on  calculations  from  the  Valdez 
map,  that  half  of  Lot  210  and  the  intervening 
territory  including  Lot  220,  would  be  ample  for 
her  to  control  a  certain  spot — the  very  spot 
which  he  himself  expected  to  control. 

Either  he  or  she  had  miscalculated.     Which? 

Dreadfully  worried,  he  sat  in  silence  beside  his 
taciturn  driver,  gazing  at  the  flanking  forest 
through  which  the  white  road  wound. 

The  only  habitation  they  passed  was  fruit-dry 
ing  ranch  No.  7,  in  the  wilderness — just  this  one 
sunny  oasis  in  the  solemn  half-light  of  the  woods. 

White    did   not   remember   the   road,    although 

when   a  child  he  must  have  traversed  it  to   the 

Causeway.     Nor  when  he  came  in  sight  of  the 

Causeway    did    he    recognise    it,    where    it    ran 

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through  a  glade  of  high,  silvery  grass  set  sparsely 
with  tall  palmettos. 

But  here  it  was,  and  the  cracker  turned  his 
mules  into  it,  swinging  sharply  to  the  left  along 
Coakachee  Creek  and  proceeding  for  about  two 
miles,  where  a  shell  mound  enabled  him  to  turn 
his  team. 

A  wagon  could  proceed  no  farther  because  the 
crumbling  Causeway  narrowed  to  a  foot-path  be 
yond.  So  here  they  unloaded;  the  cracker  rested 
his  mules  for  a  while,  then  said  a  brief  good-bye 
to  White  and  shook  the  reins. 

When  he  had  driven  out  of  sight,  White  started 
to  drag  his  tent  and  tent-poles  along  the  dike  top 
toward  his  own  property,  which  ought  to  lie  just 
ahead — somewhere  near  the  curve  that  the  Cause 
way  made  a  hundred  yards  beyond.  For  he  had 
discovered  a  weather-beaten  shingle  nailed  to  a 
water-oak,  where  he  had  disembarked  his  luggage ; 
and  on  it  were  the  remains  of  the  painted  num 
ber  198. 

Lugging  tent  and  poles,  he  started  along  the 
Causeway,  keeping  a  respectful  eye  out  for  snakes. 
So  intent  was  he  on  avoiding  the  playful  atten 
tions  of  rattler  or  moccasin  that  it  was  only  when 
he  almost  ran  into  it  that  he  discovered  another 
tent  pitched  directly  in  his  path. 
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Of  course  he  had  expected  to  find  her  encamped 
there  on  the  Causeway,  but  he  was  surprised, 
nevertheless,  and  his  tent-poles  fell,  clattering. 

A  second  later  the  flap  of  her  tent  was  pushed 
aside,  and  his  red-haired  neighbour  of  the  galleries 
stepped  out,  plainly  startled. 


XXVIII 

SHE  seemed  to  be  still  more  startled  when  she 
saw  him :  her  blue  eyes  dilated ;  the  colour 
which  had  ebbed  came  back,  suffusing  her 
pretty   features.     But  when  she  recognised  him, 
fear,  dismay,  astonishment,  and  anxiety  blended 
in    swift   confusion,   leaving  her    silent,    crimson, 
rooted  to  the  spot. 

White  took  off  his  hat  and  walked  up  to  where 
she  stood. 

"I'm  sorry,  Miss  Sandys,"  he  said.  "Only  a 
few  hours  ago  did  I  learn  who  it  was  camping 
here  on  the  Causeway.  And — I'm  afraid  I  know 
why  you  are  here.  .  .  .  Because  the  same  reason 
that  brought  you  started  me  the  next  day." 

She  had  recovered  her  composure.  She  said 
very  gravely: 

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"I  wondered  when  I  saw  you  reading  Valdez 
whether,  by  any  possibility,  you  might  think  of 
coming  here.  And  when  you  bought  the  other 
copy  I  was  still  more  afraid.  .  .  .  But  I  had  al 
ready  secured  an  option  on  my  lots." 

"I  know  it,"  he  said,  chagrined. 

"Were  you,"  she  inquired,  "the  client  of  Mr. 
Munsell  who  tried  to  buy  from  me  the  other  half 
of  Lot  210?" 

"Yes." 

"I  wondered.  But  of  course  I  would  not  sell  it. 
What  lots  have  you  bought?" 

"I  took  No.  200  to  the  northern  half  of  No. 
210." 

"Why?"  she  asked,  surprised. 

"Because,"  he  said,  reddening,  "my  calculations 
tell  me  that  this  gives  me  ample  margin." 

She  looked  at  him  in  calm  disapproval,  shak 
ing  her  head;  but  her  blue  eyes  softened. 

"I'm  sorry,"  she  said.  "You  have  miscalcu 
lated,  Mr.  White.  The  spot  lies  somewhere  within 
the  plot  numbered  from  half  of  210  to  220." 

"I  am  very  much  afraid  that  you  have  miscal 
culated,  Miss  Sandys.  I  did  not  even  attempt  to 
purchase  your  plot — except  half  of  210." 

"Nor  did  I  even  consider  your  plot,  Mr.  White," 
she  said  sorrowfully,  "and  I  had  my  choice. 
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Really  I  am  very  sorry   for  you,  but  you  have 
made  a  complete  miscalculation." 

"I  don't  see  how  I  could.  I  worked  it  out  from 
the  Valdez  map." 

"So  did  I." 

She  had  the  volume  under  her  arm;  he  had  his 
in  his  pocket. 

"Let  me  show  you,"  he  began,  drawing  it  out 
and  opening  it.  "Would  you  mind  looking  at  the 
map  for  a  moment?" 

Her  dainty  head  a  trifle  on  one  side,  she  looked 
over  his  shoulder  as  he  unfolded  the  map  for 
her. 

"Here,"  he  said,  plucking  a  dead  grass  stem 
and  tracing  the  Causeway  on  the  map,  "here  lie 
my  lots — including,  as  you  see,  the  spot  marked 
by  Valdez  with  a  Maltese  cross.  .  .  .  I'm  sorry; 
but  how  in  the  world  could  you  have  made  your 
mistake  ?" 

He  turned  to  glance  at  the  girl  and  saw  her 
amazement  and  misunderstood  it. 

"It's  too  bad,"  he  added,  feeling  profoundly 
sorry  for  her. 

"Do  you  know,"  she  said  in  a  voice  quivering 
with  emotion,  "that  a  very  terrible  thing  has  hap 
pened  to  us?" 

"To  us?" 

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"To  both  of  us.  I — we — oh,  please  look  at  my 
map !  It  is — it  is  different  from  yours  !" 

With  nervous  fingers  she  opened  the  book, 
spread  out  the  map,  and  held  it  under  his  horrified 
eyes. 

"Do  you  see!"  she  exclaimed.  "According  to 
this  map,  my  lots  include  the  Maltese  cross  of 

Valdez!  I — I — p-please  excuse  me She 

turned  abruptly  and  entered  her  tent ;  but  he  had 
caught  the  glimmer  of  sudden  tears  in  her  eyes 
and  had  seen  the  pitiful  lips  trembling. 

On  his  own  account  he  was  sufficiently  scared; 
now  it  flashed  upon  him  that  this  plucky  young 
thing  had  probably  spent  her  last  penny  on  the 
chance  that  Bangs  had  told  the  truth  about  "The 
Journal  of  Pedro  Valdez." 

That  the  two  maps  differed  was  a  staggering 
blow  to  him;  and  his  knees  seemed  rather  weak 
at  the  moment,  so  he  sat  down  on  his  unpacked 
tent  and  dropped  his  face  in  his  palms. 

Lord,  what  a  mess !  His  last  cent  was  invested ; 
hers,  too,  no  doubt.  He  hadn't  even  railroad 
fare  North.  Probably  she  hadn't  either. 

He  had  gambled  and  lost.  There  was  scarcely 
a  chance  that  he  had  not  lost.  And  the  same 
fearful  odds  were  against  her. 

"The  poor  little  thing!"  he  muttered,  staring  at 
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her  tent.  And  after  a  moment  he  sprang  to  his 
feet  and  walked  over  to  it.  The  flap  was  open; 
she  sat  inside  on  a  camp-chair,  her  red  head  in 
her  arms,  doubled  over  in  an  attitude  of  tragic 
despair. 

"Miss  Sandys?" 

She  looked  up  hastily,  the  quick  colour  dyeing 
her  pale  cheeks,  her  long,  black  lashes  glimmering 
with  tears. 

"Do  you  mind  talking  it  over  with  me?"  he 
asked. 

"N-no." 

"May  I  come  in?" 

"P-please." 

He  seated  himself  cross-legged  on  the  thresh 
old. 

"There's  only  one  thing  to  do,"  he  said,  "and 
that  is  to  go  ahead.  We  must  go  ahead.  Of 
course  the  hazard  is  against  us.  Let  us  face  the 
chance  that  Bangs  was  only  a  clever  romancer. 
Well,  we've  already  discounted  that.  Then  let  us 
face  the  discrepancy  in  our  two  maps.  It's  bad, 
I'll  admit.  It  almost  knocks  the  last  atom  of 
confidence  out  of  me.  It  has  floored  you.  But 
you  must  not  take  the  count.  You  must  get  up." 

He  paused,  looking  around  him  with  troubled 
eyes ;  then  somehow  the  sight  of  her  pathetic  fig- 
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ure — the   soft,   helpless    youth   of   her — suddenly 
seemed  to  prop  up  his  back-bone. 

"Miss  Sandys,  I  am  going  to  stand  by  you  any 
way!  I  suppose,  like  myself,  you  have  invested 
your  last  dollar  in  this  business?" 

"Y-yes." 

He  glanced  at  the  pick,  shovel  and  spade  in  the 
corner  of  her  tent,  then  at  her  hands. 

"Who,"  he  asked  politely,  "was  going  to  wield 
these?" 

She  let  her  eyes  rest  on  the  massive  implements 
of  honest  toil,  then  looked  confusedly  at  him. 

"I  was." 

"Did  you  ever  try  to  dig  with  any  of  these 
things?" 

"N-no.     But  if  I  had  to  do  it  I  knew  I  could." 

He  said,  pleasantly:  "You  have  all  kinds  of 
courage.  Did  you  bring  a  shot-gun?" 

"Yes." 

"Do  you  know  how  to  load  and  fire  it?" 

"The  clerk  in  the  shop  instructed  me." 

"You  are  the  pluckiest  girl  I  ever  laid  eyes 
on.  .  .  .  You  camped  here  all  alone  last  night,  I 
suppose?" 

"Yes." 

"How  about  it?"  he  asked,  smilingly.  "Were 
you  afraid?" 

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She  coloured,  cast  a  swift  glance  at  him,  saw 
that  his  attitude  was  perfectly  respectful  and  sym 
pathetic,  and  said: 

"Yes,  I  was  horribly  afraid." 

"Did  anything  annoy  you?" 

"S-something  bellowed  out  there  in  the  swamp 
"  She  shuddered  unaffectedly  at  the  recol 
lection. 

"A  bull-alligator,"  he  remarked. 

"What?" 

"Yes,"  he  nodded,  "it  is  terrifying,  but  they 
let  you  alone.  I  once  heard  one  bellow  on  the 
Tomoka  when  I  was  a  boy." 

After  a  while  she  said  with  tremulous  lips : 

"There  seem  to  be  snakes  here,  too." 

"Didn't  you  expect  any?" 

"Mr.  Munsell  said  there  were  not  any." 

"Did  he?" 

"Not,"  she  explained  resolutely,  "that  the  pres 
ence  of  snakes  would  have  deterred  me.  They 
frighten  me  terribly,  but — I  would  have  come  just 
the  same." 

"You  are  sheer  pluck,"  he  said. 

"I   don't   know.   ...      I    am   very   poor.   .   .  . 

There  seemed  to  be  a  chance.   ...    I  took  it " 

Tears  sprang  to  her  eyes  again,  and  she  brushed 
them  away  impatiently. 

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"Yes,"  she  said,  "the  only  way  is  to  go  on,  as 
you  say,  Mr.  White.  Everything  in  the  world 
that  I  have  is  invested  here.'* 

"It  is  the  same  with  me,"  he  admitted  de 
jectedly. 

They  looked  at  each  other  curiously  for  a  mo 
ment. 

"Isn't  it  strange?"  she  murmured. 

"Strange  as  'The  Journal  of  Valdez.'  ...  I 
have  an  idea.  I  wonder  what  you  might  think  of 
it." 

She  waited;  he  reflected  for  another  moment, 
then,  smiling: 

"This  is  a  perfectly  rotten  place  for  you,"  he 
said.  "You  could  not  do  manual  labour  here  in 
this  swamp  under  a  nearly  vertical  sun  and  keep 
your  health  for  twenty-four  hours.  I've  been  in 
Trinidad.  I  know  a  little  about  the  tropics  and 
semi-tropics.  Suppose  you  and  I  form  a  com 
pany?" 

"What?" 

"Call  it  the  Valdez  Company,  or  the  Association 
of  the  Maltese  Cross,"  he  continued  cheerfully. 
"You  will  do  the  cooking,  washing,  housekeeping 
for  two  tents,  and  the  mending.  I  will  do  the 
digging  and  the  dynamiting.  And  we'll  go  ahead 
doggedly,  and  face  this  thing  and  see  it  through 
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to  the  last  ditch.  What  do  you  think  of  it? 
Your  claim  as  plotted  out  is  no  more,  no  less, 
valuable  than  mine.  Both  claims  may  be  worth 
less.  The  chances  are  that  they  are  absolutely 
valueless.  But  there  is  a  chance,  too,  that  we 
might  win  out.  Shall  we  try  it  together?" 

She  did  not  answer. 

"And,"  he  continued,  "if  the  Maltese  cross  hap 
pens  to  be  included  within  my  claim,  I  share 
equally  with  you.  If  it  chances  to  lie  within 
your  claim,  perhaps  I  might  ask  a  third " 

"Mr.  White !" 

"Yes?" 

"You  will  take  two  thirds !" 

"What?" 

"Two  thirds,"  she  repeated  firmly,  "because 
your  heavier  labour  entitles  you  to  that  propor 
tion!" 

"My  dear  Miss  Sandys,  you  are  unworldly  and 
inexperienced  in  your  generosity 

"So  are  you !  The  idea  of  your  modestly  ven 
turing  to  ask  a  third!  And  offering  me  a  half  if 
the  Maltese  cross  lie  inside  your  own  territory ! 
That  is  not  the  way  to  do  business,  Mr.  White!" 

She  had  become  so  earnest  in  her  admonition, 
so  charmingly  emphatic,  that  he  smiled  in  spite 
of  himself. 

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She  flushed,  noticing  this,  and  said:  "Altruism 
is  a  luxury  in  business  matters;  selfishness  of  the 
justifiable  sort  a  necessity.  Who  will  look  out 
for  your  interests  if  you  do  not?" 

"You  seem  to  be  doing  it." 

Her  colour  deepened:  "I  am  only  suggesting 
that  you  do  not  make  a  foolish  bargain  with 
me." 

"Which  proves,"  he  said,  "that  you  are  not 
much  better  at  business  than  am  I.  Otherwise 
you'd  have  taken  me  up." 

"I'm  a  very  good  business  woman,"  she  insisted, 
warmly,  "but  I'm  too  much  of  the  other  kind  of 
woman  to  be  unfair!" 

"Commercially,"  he  said,  "we  both  are  sadly 
behind  the  times.  To-day  the  world  is  eliminating 
its  appendix;  to-morrow  it  will  be  operated  on 
for  another  obsolete  and  annoying  appendage.  I 
mean  its  conscience,"  he  added,  so  seriously  that 
for  a  moment  her  own  gravity  remained  unaltered. 
Then,  like  a  faint  ray  of  sunlight,  across  her  face 
the  smile  glimmered.  It  was  a  winning  smile, 
fresh  and  unspoiled  as  the  lips  it  touched. 

"You  will  take  half — won't  you?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,  I  will.     Is  it  a  bargain?" 

"If  you  care  to  make  it  so,  Mr.  White." 

He  said  he  did,  and  they  shook  hands  very 
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formally.  Then  he  went  out  and  pitched  his  tent 
beside  hers,  set  it  in  order,  lugged  up  the  re 
mainder  of  his  equipment,  buried  the  jars  of 
spring  water,  and,  entering  his  tent,  changed  to 
flannel  shirt,  sun-helmet,  and  khaki. 


XXIX 

A  LITTLE    later    he     called    to     her:      she 
emerged  from  her  tent,  and  together  they 
sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  Causeway, 
with  the  two  niaps  spread  over  their  knees. 

That  both  maps  very  accurately  represented  the 
topography  of  the  immediate  vicinity  there  could 
be  no  doubt;  the  only  discrepancy  seemed  to  lie 
in  the  situation  of  the  Maltese  cross.  On  White's 
map  the  cross  fell  well  within  his  half  of  Lot  210 ; 
in  Jean  Sandys'  map  it  was  situated  between  her 
half  of  210  and  220. 

Plot  it  out  as  they  might,  using  Mr.  Munsell's 
diagram,   the   result   was   always   the   same ;    and 
after  a  while  they  gave  up  the  useless  attempt  to 
reconcile  the  differences  in  the  two  maps. 
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From  where  they  were  sitting  together  on  the 
Causeway's  edge,  they  were  facing  due  west.  At 
their  feet  rippled  the  clear,  deep  waters  of  the 
swamp,  lapping  against  the  base  of  the  Causeway 
like  transparent  little  waves  in  a  northern  lake. 
A  slight  current  disclosed  the  channel  where  it 
flowed  out  of  the  north  western  edges  of  the 
swamp,  which  was  set  with  tall  cypress  trees, 
their  flaring  bases  like  silvery  pyramids  deep  set 
in  the  shining  ooze. 

East  of  them  the  Coakachee  flowed  through 
thickets  of  saw-grass  and  green  brier,  between  a 
forest  of  oak,  pine,  and  cedar,  bordered  on  the 
western  side  by  palm  and  palmetto — all  exactly 
as  drawn  in  the  map  of  Pedro  Valdez. 

The  afternoon  was  cloudless  and  warm;  an  ex 
quisite  scent  of  blossoms  came  from  the  forest 
when  a  light  breeze  rippled  the  water.  Some 
where  in  those  green  and  tangled  depths  jasmine 
hung  its  fairy  gold  from  arching  branches,  and 
wild  oranges  were  in  bloom.  At  intervals,  when 
the  breeze  set  from  the  east,  the  heavenly  frag 
rance  of  magnolia  grew  more  pronounced. 

After  a  little  searching  he  discovered  the  huge 
tree,  far  towering  above  oak  and  pine  and  palm, 
set  with  lustrous  clusters,  ivory  and  palest  gold, 
exhaling  incense. 

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"Wonderful,"  she  said  under  her  breath,  when 
he  pointed  it  out  to  her.  "This  enchanted  land 
is  one  endless  miracle  to  me." 

"You  have  never  before  been  in  the  South?" 

"I  have  been  nowhere." 

"Oh.  I  thought  perhaps  when  you  were  a 
child " 

"We  were  too  poor.  My  mother  taught  piano." 

"I  see,"  he  said  gravely. 

"I  had  no  childhood,"  she  said.  "After  the 
public  school,  it  was  the  book  section  in  depart 
ment  stores.  .  .  .  They  let  me  go  last  week. 
That  is  how  I  came  to  be  in  the  Heikem  gal 
leries." 

He  clasped  his  hands  around  one  knee  and 
looked  out  across  the  semi-tropical  landscape. 

Orange-coloured  butterflies  with  wings  like 
lighted  lanterns  fluttered  along  the  edges  of  the 
flowering  shrubs ;  a  lovely  purplish-black  one  with 
four  large,  white  polka  dots  on  his  wings  flitted 
persistently  about  them. 

Over  the  sun-baked  Causeway  blue-tailed  liz 
ards  raced  and  chased  each  other,  frisking  up  tree 
trunks,  flashing  across  branches :  a  snowy  heron 
rose  like  some  winged  thing  from  Heaven,  and 
floated  away  into  the  silvery  light.  And  like  liv 
ing  jewels  the  gorgeous  wood-ducks  glided  in  and 
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out  where  the  water  sparkled  among  the  cypress 
trees. 

"Think,"  he  said,  "of  those  men  in  armour  toil 
ing  through  these  swamps  under  a  vertical  sun! 
Think  of  them,  starved,  haggard,  fever  racked, 
staggering  toward  their  El  Dorado ! — their  steel 
mail  scorching  their  bodies,  the  briers  and  poison- 
grass  festering  their  flesh ;  moccasin,  rattler,  and 
copperhead  menacing  them  with  death  at  every 
step ;  the  poisoned  arrows  of  the  Indians  whizzing 
from  every  glade !" 

"Blood  and  gold,"  she  nodded,  "and  the  death 
less  bravery  of  avarice!  That  was  Spain.  And 
it  inflamed  the  sunset  of  Spanish  glory." 

He  mused  for  a  while:  "To  think  of  De  Soto 
being  here — here  on  this  very  spot ! — here  on  this 
ancient  Causeway,  amid  these  forests ! — towering 
in  his  armour!  His  plated  mail  must  have  made 
a  burning  hell  for  his  body !" 

She  looked  down  at  the  cool,  blue  water  at  her 
feet.  He,  too,  gazed  at  it,  curiously.  For  a 
few  feet  the  depths  were  visible,  then  a  translu 
cent  gloom,  glimmering  with  emerald  lights,  ob 
scured  further  penetration  of  his  vision.  Deep 
down  in  that  water  was  what  they  sought — if  it 
truly  existed  at  all. 

After  a  few  moments'  silence  he  rose,  drew  the 
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hunting-knife  at  his  belt,  severed  a  tall,  swamp- 
maple  sapling,  trimmed  it,  and,  returning  to  the 
water's  edge,  deliberately  sounded  the  channel. 
He  could  not  touch  bottom  there,  or  even  at  the 
base  of  the  Causeway. 

"Miss  Sandys,"  he  said,  "there  is  plenty  of 
room  for  such  a  structure  as  the  Maltese  cross 
is  supposed  to  mark." 

"I  wonder,"  she  murmured. 

"Oh,  there's  room  enough,"  he  repeated,  with 
an  uneasy  laugh.  "Suppose  we  begin  opera 
tions  !" 

"When?" 

"Now!" 

She  looked  up  at  him,  flushed  and  smiling: 

"It  is  going  to  take  weeks  and  weeks,  isn't 
it?" 

"I  thought  so  before  I  came  down  here.  But 
— I  don't  see  why  we  shouldn't  blow  a  hole 
through  this  Causeway  in  a  few  minutes." 

"What!" 

She  rose  to  her  feet,  slightly  excited,  not  un 
derstanding. 

"I  could  set  off  enough  dynamite  right  here," 
he   said,   stamping  his  heel  into  the   white  dust, 
" — enough  dynamite  to  open  up  that  channel  into 
the  Coakachee.     Why  don't  I  do  it?" 
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Pink  with  excitement  she  said  breathlessly: 
"Did  you  bring  dynamite?" 

"Didn't  your 

"I — I  never  even  thought  of  it.  F-fire  crackers 
frighten  me.  I  thought  it  would  be  all  I  could 
do  to  fire  off  my  shot-gun."  And  she  bit  her 
lip  with  vexation. 

"Why,"  he  said,  "it  would  take  a  gang  of  men 
a  week  to  cut  through  this  Causeway,  besides 
building  a  coffer-dam."  He  looked  at  her  curi 
ously.  "How  did  you  expect  to  begin  operations 
aU  alone?" 

"I — I  expected  to  dig." 

He  looked  at  her  delicate  little  hands: 

"You  meant  to  dig  your  way  through  with 
pick  and  shovel?" 

"Yes — if  it  took  a  year." 

"And  how  did  you  expect  to  construct  your 
coffer-dam?" 

"I  didn't  know  about  a  coffer-dam,"  she  ad 
mitted,  blushing.  After  a  moment  she  lifted  her 
pretty,  distressed  eyes  to  his :  "I — I  had  no  knowl 
edge — only  courage,"  she  said.  .  .  .  "And  I 
needed  money." 

A  responsive  flush  of  sympathy  and  pity  passed 
over  him;  she  was  so  plucky,  so  adorably  help 
less.  Even  now  he  knew  she  was  unconscious  of 
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the  peril  into  which  her  confidence  and  folly  had 
led  her — a  peril  averted  only  by  the  mere  acci 
dent  of  his  own  arrival. 

He  said  lightly:  "Shall  we  try  to  solve  this 
thing  now?  Shall  we  take  a  chance,  set  our 
charges,  and  blow  a  hole  in  this  Causeway  big 
enough  to  drain  that  water  off  in  an  hour?" 

"Could  you  do  that?"  she  exclaimed,  delighted. 

"I  think  so." 

"Then  tell  me  what  to  do  to  help  you." 

He  turned  toward  her,  hesitated,  controlling  the 
impulsive  reply. 

"To  help  me,"  he  said,  smilingly,  "please  keep 
away  from  the  dynamite." 

"Oh,  I  will,"  she  nodded  seriously.  "What  else 
am  I  to  do?" 

"Would  you  mind  preparing  dinner?" 

She  looked  up  at  him  a  little  shyly:  "No.  .  .  . 
And  I  am  very  glad  that  I  am  not  to  dine  alone." 

"So  am  I,"  he  said.  "And  I  am  very  glad  that 
it  is  with  you  I  am  to  dine." 

"You  never  even  looked  at  me  in  the  galleries," 
she  said. 

"Then — how  could  I  know  you  were  reading 
Valdez  if  I  never  looked  at  you?" 

"Oh,  you  may  have  looked  at  the  book  I  was 
reading." 

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"I  did,"  he  said,  "—and  at  the  hands  that  held 
it." 

"Never  dreaming  that  they  meant  to  wield  a 
pick-axe,"  she  laughed,  "and  encompass  your  dis 
comfiture.  But  after  all  they  did  neither  the  one 
nor  the  other ;  did  they  ?" 

He  looked  at  the  smooth  little  hands  cupped 
in  the  shallow  pockets  of  her  white  flannel  Nor 
folk.  They  fascinated  him. 

"To  think,"  he  said,  half  to  himself,  " — to 
think  of  those  hands  wielding  a  pick-axe!" 

She  smiled,  head  slightly  on  one  side,  and  bent, 
contemplating  her  right  hand. 

"You  know,"  she  said,  "I  certainly  would  have 
done  it." 

"You  would  have  been  crippled  in  an  hour." 

Her  head  went  up,  but  she  was  still  smiling  as 
she  said:  "I'd  have  gone  through  with  it — some 
how." 

"Yes,"  he  said  slowly.     "I  believe  you  would." 

"Not,"  she  added,  blushing,  "that  I  mean  to 
vaunt  myself  or  my  courage " 

"No :  I  understand.  You  are  not  that  kind. .  .  . 
It's  rather  extraordinary  how  well  I — I  think  I 
know  you  already." 

"Perhaps  you  do  know  me — already." 

"I  really  believe  I  do." 
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"It's  very  likely.  I  am  just  what  I  seem  to 
be.  There  is  no  mystery  about  me.  I  am  what 
I  appear  to  be." 

"You  are  also  very  direct." 

"Yes.  It's  my  nature  to  be  direct.  I  am  not 
a  bit  politic  or  diplomatic  or  circuitous." 

"So  I  noticed,"  he  said  smilingly,  "when  you 
discussed  finance  with  me.  You  were  not  a  bit 
politic." 

She  smiled,  too,  a  little  embarrassed:  "llow 
could  I  be  anything  but  frank  in  return  for  your 
very  unworldly  generosity?"  she  said.  "Because 
what  you  offered  was  unworldly.  Anyway,  I 
should  have  been  direct  with  you;  I  knew  what  I 
wanted;  I  knew  what  you  wanted.  All  I  had  to 
do  was  to  make  up  my  mind.  And  I  did  so." 

"Did  you  make  up  your  mind  about  me,  also?" 

"Yes,  about  you,  also." 

They  both   smiled. 

She  was  so  straight  and  slender  and  pretty  in 
her  white  flannels  and  white  outing  hat — her  atti 
tude  so  confident,  so  charmingly  determined,  that 
she  seemed  to  him  even  younger  than  she  really 
was — a  delightful,  illogical,  fresh  and  fearless 
school-girl,  translated  by  some  flash  of  magic 
from  her  school  hither,  and  set  down  unruffled  and 
unstartled  upon  her  light,  white-shod  feet. 
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Even  now  it  amazed  him  to  realise  that  she 
really  understood  nothing  of  the  lonely  perils 
lately  confronting  her  in  this  desolate  place. 

For  if  there  were  nothing  actually  to  fear  from 
the  wild  beasts  of  the  region,  that  which  the  beasts 
themselves  feared  might  have  confronted  her  at 
any  moment.  He  shuddered  as  he  thought  of 
it. 

And  what  would  she  have  done  if  suddenly 
clutched  by  fever?  What  would  she  have  done  if 
a  white-mouthed  moccasin  had  struck  her  ankle — 
or  if  it  had  been  the  diamond-set  Death  him 
self? 

"You  don't  mind  my  speaking  plainly,  do  you?" 
he  said  bluntly. 

"Why,  no,  of  course  not."  She  looked  at  him 
inquiringly. 

"Don't  stray  far  away  from  me,  will  you?" 

"What?" 

"Don't  wander  away  by  yourself,  out  of  sight, 
while  we  are  engaged  in  this  business." 

She  looked  serious  and  perplexed  for  a  mo 
ment,  then  turned  a  delicate  pink  and  began  to 
laugh  in  a  pretty,  embarrassed  way. 

"Are  you  afraid  I'll  get  into  mischief?  Do  you 
know  it  is  very  kind  of  you  to  feel  that  way  ?  .  .  . 
And  rather  unexpected — in  a  man  who — sat  for 
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three  days  across  the  aisle  from  me — and  never 
even  looked  in  my  direction.  Tell  me,  what  am 
I  to  be  afraid  of  in  this  place?" 

"There  are  snakes  about,"  he  said  with  em 
phasis. 

"Oh,  yes ;  I've  seen  some  swimming." 

"There  are  four  poisonous  species  among 
them,"  he  continued.  "That's  one  of  the  reasons 
for  your  keeping  near  me." 

She  nodded,  a  trifle  awed. 

"So  you  will,  won't  you?" 

"Yes,"  she  said,  taking  his  words  so  literally 
that,  when  they  turned  to  walk  toward  the  tents, 
she  came  up  close  beside  him,  naively  as  a  child, 
and  laid  one  hand  on  his  sleeve  as  they  started 
back  across  the  Causeway. 

"Suppose  either  one  of  us  is  bitten?"  she  asked 
after  a  silence. 

"I  have  lancets,  tourniquets,  and  anti-venom  in 
my  tent." 

Her  smooth  hand  tightened  a  little  on  his  arm. 
She  had  not  realised  that  the  danger  was  more 
than  a  vague  possibility. 

"You  have  spring  water,  of  course,"  he  said. 

"No.  ...  I  boiled  a  little  from  the  swamp  be 
fore  I  drank  it." 

He  turned  to  her  sternly  and  drew  her  arm 
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through   his   with   an   unconscious   movement   of 
protection. 

"Are  you  sure  that  water  was  properly  boiled 
• — thoroughly  boiled?"  he  demanded. 

"It  bubbled." 

"Listen  to  me !  Hereafter  when  you  are  thirsty 
you  will  use  my  spring  water.  Is  that  under 
stood?" 

"Yes.  .  .  .  And  thank  you." 

"You  don't  want  to  get  break-bone  fever,  do 
you?" 

"No-o !"  she  said  hastily.  "I  will  do  everything 
you  wish." 

"I'll  hang  your  hammock  for  you,"  he  said. 
"Always  look  in  your  shoes  for  scorpions  and 
spiders  before  you  put  them  on.  Never  step  over 
a  fallen  log  before  you  first  look  on  the  other  side. 
Rattlers  lie  there.  Never  go  near  a  swamp  with 
out  looking  for  moccasins. 

"Don't  let  the  direct  sunlight  fall  on  your  bare 
head;  don't  eat  fruit  for  a  week;  don't  ever  go 
to  sleep  unless  you  have  a  blanket  on.  You  won't 
do  any  of  these  things,  will  you?"  he  inquired  anx 
iously,  almost  tenderly. 

"I  promise.     And  I  never  dreamed  that  there 
was   anything  to   apprehend   except   alligators!" 
she  said,  tightening  her  arm  around  his  own. 
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"Alligators  won't  bother  you — unless  you  run 
across  a  big  one  in  the  woods.  Then  keep  clear 
of  him." 

"I  will!"  she  said  earnestly. 

"And  don't  sit  about  on  old  logs  or  lean  against 
trees." 

"Why?     Lizards?" 

"Oh,  they're  not  harmful.  But  wood-ticks 
might  give  you  a  miserable  week  or  two." 

"Oh,  dear,  oh,  dear,"  she  murmured,  "I  am  so 
glad  you  came  here!"  And  quite  innocently  she 
pressed  his  arm.  She  did  it  because  she  was  grate 
ful.  She  had  a  very  direct  way  with  her. 


XXX 

WHEN    they  came  to  their  tents  he  went 
into  hers,   slung  her  hammock  prop 
erly,  shook  a  scorpion  out  of  her  slip 
pers,  and  set  his  heel  on  it;  drove  a  non-poison 
ous  but  noisy  puff-adder  from  under  her  foot-rug, 
the  creature  hissing  like  a  boiling  kettle  and  dis 
tending  its  grey  and  black  neck. 

Terrified  but  outwardly  calm,  she  stood  beside 
him,  now  clutching  his  arm  very  closely;  and  at 
last  her  tent  was  in  order,  the  last  spider  and 
lizard  hustled  out,  the  oil  cook-stove  burning,  the 
tinned  goods  ready,  the  aluminum  batterie-de- 
cuisine  ranged  at  her  elbow. 

"I  wonder,"   he   said,    hesitating,   "whether   I 
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dare  leave  you  long  enough  to  go  and  dig  some 
holes  with  a  crow-bar." 

"Why,  of  course!"  she  said.  "You  can't  have 
me  tagging  at  your  heels  every  minute,  you 
know." 

He  laughed :  "It's  7  who  do  the  tagging." 

"It  isn't  disagreeable,"  she  said  shyly. 

"I  don't  mean  to  dog  every  step  you  take," 
he  continued,  "but  now,  when  you  are  out  of  my 
sight,  I — I  can't  help  feeling  a  trifle  anxious." 

"But  you  mustn't  feel  responsible  for  me.  I 
came  down  here  on  my  own  initiative.  I  certainly 
deserve  whatever  happens  to  me.  Don't  I?" 

"What  comfort  would  that  be  to  me  if  any 
thing  unpleasant  did  happen  to  you?" 

"Why,"  she  asked  frankly,  "should  you  feel  as 
responsible  for  my  welfare  as  that?  After  all, 
I  am  only  a  stranger,  you  know." 

He  said:  "Do  you  really  feel  like  a  stranger? 
Do  you  really  feel  that  I  am  one?" 

She  considered  the  proposition  for  a  few  mo 
ments. 

"No,"  she  said,  "I  don't.  And  perhaps  it  is 
natural  for  us  to  take  a  friendly  interest  in  each 
other." 

"It  comes  perfectly  natural  to  me  to  take  a 
v-very  v-vivid  interest  in  you,"  he  said.  "What 
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with  snakes  and  scorpions  and  wood-ticks  and  un 
boiled  water  and  the  actinic  rays  of  the  sun,  I 
can't  very  well  help  worrying  about  you.  After 
all,"  he  added  lucidly,  "you're  a  girl,  you  know." 

She  admitted  the  accusation  with  a  smile  so 
sweet  that  there  could  be  no  doubt  of  her  sex. 

"However,"  she  said,  "you  should  entertain  no 
apprehensions  concerning  me.  I  have  none  con 
cerning  you.  I  think  you  know  your  business." 

"Of  course,"  he  said,  going  into  his  tent  and 
returning  loaded  with  crow-bar,  pick-axe,  dyna 
mite,  battery,  and  wires. 

She  laid  aside  the  aluminum  cooking-utensils 
with  which  she  had  been  fussing  and  rose  from 
her  knees  as  he  passed  her  with  a  pleasant  nod  of 
au  revoir. 

"You'll  be  careful  with  that  dynamite,  won't 
you?"  she  said  anxiously.  "You  know  it  goes 
off  at  all  sorts  of  unexpected  moments." 

"I  think  I  understand  how  to  handle  it,"  he  re 
assured  her. 

"Are  you  quite  certain?" 

"Oh,  yes.  But  perhaps  you'd  better  not  come 
any  nearer ' 

"Mr.  White!" 

"What!" 

"It  is  dangerous !  I  don't  like  to  have  you  go 
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away  alone  with  that  dynamite.     You  make  me 
very  anxious." 

"You  needn't  be.  If — in  the  very  remote  event 
of  anything  going  wrong — now  don't  forget  what 
I  say ! — but  in  case  of  an  accident  to  me,  you'll 
be  all  right  if  you  start  back  to  Verbena  at  once 
— instantly — and  take  the  right-hand  road " 

"Mr.  White!" 

"Yes?" 

"I  was  not  thinking  of  myself!  I  was  concerned 
about  you!" 

"Me  ? — personally?  " 

"Of  course!  You  say  you  have  me  on  your 
mind.  Do  you  think  I  am  devoid  of  human  feel- 
ing?" 

"Were  you — really — thinking  about  me?"  he 
repeated  slowly.  "That  was  very  nice  of  you.  .  .  . 
I  didn't  quite  understand.  .  .  .  I'll  be  careful 
with  the  dynamite." 

"Perhaps  I'd  better  go  with  you,"  she  sug 
gested  irresolutely. 

"Why?" 

"I  could  hold  a  green  umbrella  over  you  while 
you  are  digging  holes.  You  yourself  say  that 
the  sun  is  dangerous." 

"My  sun-helmet  makes  it  all  right,"  he  said, 
deeply  touched. 

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"You  won't  take  it  off,  will  you?" 

"No." 

"And  you'll  look  all  around  you  for  snakes 
before  you  take  the  next  step,  won't  you?"  she 
insisted. 

He  promised,  thrilled  by  her  frank  solicitude. 

A  little  way  up  the  path  he  paused,  looked 
around,  and  saw  her  standing  there  looking  after 
him. 

"You're  sure  you'll  be  all  right?"  he  called  back 
to  her. 

"Yes.     Are  you  sure  you  will  be?" 

"Oh,  yes!" 

They  made  two  quick  gestures  of  adieu,  and 
he  resumed  the  path.  Presently  he  turned  again. 
She  was  still  standing  there  looking  after  him. 
They  made  two  gestures  of  farewell  and  he  re 
sumed  the  path.  After  a  while  he  looked  back. 
She — but  what's  the  use! 

When  he  came  to  the  spot  marked  for  destruc 
tion,  he  laid  down  his  paraphernalia,  seized  the 
crow-bar,  and  began  to  dig,  scarcely  conscious 
of  what  he  was  about  because  he  had  become  so 
deeply  absorbed  in  other  things — in  aw-other 
thing — a  human  one  with  red  hair  and  otherwise 
divinely  endowed. 

The  swift  onset  of,  this  heavenly  emotion  was 
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making  him  giddy — or  perhaps  it  was  unac 
customed  manual  labor  under  a  semi-tropical 
sun. 

Anyway  he  went  about  his  work  blindly  but 
vigorously,  seeing  nothing  of  the  surrounding 
landscape  or  of  the  immediate  ground  into  which 
he  rammed  his  crow-bar,  so  constantly  did  the 
charming  vision  of  her  piquant  features  shut  out 
all  else. 

And  all  the  time  he  was  worrying,  too.  He 
thought  of  snakes  biting  her  distractingly  pretty 
ankles ;  he  thought  of  wood-ticks  and  of  her 
snowy  neck;  of  scorpions  and  of  the  delicate  lit 
tle  hands. 

How  on  earth  was  he  ever  going  to  endure  the 
strain  if  already,  in  these  few  hours,  his  anxiety 
about  her  welfare  was  assuming  such  deep  and 
portentous  proportions !  How  was  he  going  to 
stand  the  worry  until  she  was  safe  in  the  snake- 
less,  tickless  North  again! 

She  couldn't  remain  here !  She  must  go  North. 
His  mind  seemed  already  tottering  under  its  new 
and  constantly  increasing  load  of  responsibility ; 
and  he  dug  away  fiercely  with  his  bar,  making 
twice  as  many  holes  as  he  had  meant  to. 

For  he  had  suddenly  determined  to  be  done  with 
the  job  and  get  her  into  some  safe  place,  and  he 
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meant  to  set  off  a  charge  of  dynamite  that  would 
do  the  business  without  fail. 

Charging  and  tamping  the  holes,  he  used  cau 
tion,  even  in  spite  of  his  increasing  impatience  to 
return  and  see  how  she  was;  arguing  very  justly 
with  himself  that  if  he  blew  himself  up  he  couldn't 
very  well  learn  how  she  was. 

So  he  attached  the  wires  very  carefully,  made 
his  connections,  picked  up  the  big  reel  and  the 
remainder  of  his  tools,  and  walked  toward  the  dis 
tant  tents,  unreeling  his  wire  as  he  moved  along. 

She  was  making  soup,  but  she  heard  the  jangle 
of  his  equipment,  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  ran  out 
to  meet  him. 

He  let  fall  everything  and  held  out  both  hands. 
In  them  she  laid  her  own. 

"I'm  so  glad  to  see  you !"  he  said  warmly.  "I'm 
so  thankful  that  you're  all  right!" 

"I'm  so  glad  you  came  back,"  she  said  frankly. 
"I  have  been  most  uneasy  about  you." 

"I've  been  very  anxious,  too,"  he  said.  Then, 
drawing  an  unfeigned  sigh  of  relief:  "It  does 
seem  good  to  get  back  again !"  He  had  been  away 
nearly  half  an  hour. 

She  examined  the  wire  and  the  battery  gin 
gerly,  asking  him  innumerable  questions  about  it. 

"Do  you  suppose,"  she  ended,  "that  it  will  be 
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safe  for  you  to  set  off  the  charge  from  this 
camp  ?" 

"Oh,  perfectly,"  he  nodded. 

"Of  course,"  she  said,  half  to  herself,  "we'll 
both  be  blown  up  if  it  isn't  safe.  And  that  is 
something!" 

And  she  came  up  very  close  when  he  said  he 
was  ready  to  fire,  and  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm. 
The  hand  was  steady  enough.  But  when  he 
glanced  at  her  he  saw  how  white  she  had  become. 

"Why,  Jean !"  he  said  gently.  "Are  you  fright 
ened?" 

"No.  ...  I  won't  mind  it  if  I  may  stand 
rather  near  you."  And  she  closed  her  eyes  and 
placed  both  hands  over  her  ears. 

"Do  you  think  I'd  fire  this  charge,"  he  de 
manded  warmly,  "if  there  was  the  slightest  pos 
sible  danger  to  you?  Take  down  your  hands  and 
listen." 

Her  closed  eyelids  quivered:  "We'll  both — 
there  won't  be  anything  left  of  either  of  us  if  any 
thing  does  happen,"  she  said  tremulously.  "I 
am  not  afraid.  .  .  .  Only  tell  me  when  to  close 
my  ears." 

"Do  you  really  think  there  is  danger?" 

"I  don't  know." 

He  looked  at  her  standing  there,  pale,  plucky, 
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eyes  tightly  shut,  her  pretty  fingers  resting  lightly 
on  her  ears. 

He  said:  "Would  you  think  me  crazy  if  I  tell 
you  something?" 

"W-What?" 

"Would  you  think  me  insane,  Jean?" 

"I  don't  think  I  would." 

"You  wouldn't  consider  me  utterly  mad?" 

"N-no." 

"No— what?" 

"No,  I  wouldn't  consider  you  mad " 

"No — what?"  he  persisted. 

And  after  a  moment  her  pallor  was  tinted  with 
a  delicate  rose. 

"No — what?"  he  insisted  again. 

"No — Jim,"  she  answered  under  breath. 

"Then — close  your  ears,  Jean,  dear." 

She  closed  them;  his  arm  encircled  her  waist. 
She  bore  it  nobly. 

"You  may  fire  when  you  are  ready — James !" 
she  said  faintly. 

A  thunder-clap  answered  her;  the  Causeway 
seemed  to  spring  up  under  their  feet;  the  world 
reeled. 

Presently  she  heard  his  voice  sounding  calmly: 
"Are  you  all  right,  Jean?" 

"Yes.  ...  I  was  thinking  of  you — as  long  as 
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I  could  think  at  all.  I  was  ready  to  go — any 
where — with  you." 

"I  have  been  ready  for  that,"  he  said  unstead 
ily,  "from  the  moment  I  heard  your  voice.  But 
it  is — is  wonderful  of  you!" 

She  opened  her  blue  eyes,  dreamily  looking  up 
into  his.  Then  the  colour  surged  into  her  face. 

"If — if  you  had  spoken  to  me  across  the  aisle," 
she  said,  "it  would  have  begun  even  sooner,  I 
think.  .  .  .  Because  I  can't  imagine  myself  not 
— caring  for  you." 

He  took  her  into  his  arms : 

"Don't  worry,"  he  said,  "I'll  make  a  place  for 
you  in  the  world,  even  if  that  Maltese  cross  means 
nothing." 

She  looked  into  his  eyes  fearlessly:  "I  know 
you  will,"  she  said. 

Then  he  kissed  her  and  she  put  both  arms 
around  his  neck  and  offered  her  fresh,  young  lips 
again. 


XXXI 

TOWARD    sunset    he    came    to,    partially, 
passed    his    hand    across    his    enchanted 
eyes,  and  rose  from  the  hammock  beside 
her. 

"Dearest,"  he  said,  "that  swamp  ought  to  be 
partly  drained  by  this  time.  Suppose  we  walk 
over  before  dinner  and  take  a  look?" 

Still  confused  by  the  sweetness  of  her  dream, 
she  sat  up,  and  he  drew  her  to  her  feet,  where  she 
stood  twisting  up  her  beautiful  hair,  half  smiling, 
shy,  adorable. 

Then  together  they  walked  slowly  out  along 
the  Causeway,  so  absorbed  in  each  other  that  al 
ready  they  had  forgotten  the  explosion,  and  even 
the  Maltese  cross  itself. 

It  was  only  when  they  were  halted  by  the  great 
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gap  in  the  Causeway  that  Jean  Sandys  glanced 
to  the  left,  over  a  vast  bed  of  shining  mud,  where 
before  blue  wavelets  had  lapped  the  base  of  the 
Causeway. 

Then  her  vaguely  smiling  eyes  flew  wide  open; 
she  caught  her  lover's  arm  in  an  excited  clasp. 

"O  Jim!"  she  exclaimed.  "Look!  Look!  It 
is  true !  It  is  true !  Look  at  the  bed  of  the  lake !" 

They  stood  trembling  and  staring  at  the  low, 
squat,  windowless  coquina  house,  reeking  with  the 
silt  of  centuries,  crawling  with  stranded  water 
creatures. 

The  stones  that  had  blocked  the  door  had  fallen 
before  the  shock  of  the  dynamite. 

"Good  God !"  he  whispered.  "Do  you  see  what 
is  inside?" 

But  Jean  Sandys,  calmly  looking  untold  wealth 
in  its  glittering  face,  sighed,  smiled,  and  turned 
her  blue  gaze  on  her  lover,  finding  in  his  eyes  the 
only  miracle  that  now  had  power  to  hold  her  un 
divided  attention. 

For  it  is  that  way  with  some  girls. 


But  the  novelist,  unable  to  endure  a  dose  of  his 
own  technique,  could  no  longer  control  his  im 
patience  : 

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"What  in  God's  name  was  there  in  that  stone 
house!"  he  burst  out. 

"Oh,  Lord!"  muttered  Stafford,  "it  is  two 
hours  after  midnight." 

He  rose,  bent  over  the  girl's  hand,  and  kissed 
the  emerald  on  the  third  finger. 

Figure  after  figure,  tall,  shadowy,  leisurely  fol 
lowed  his  example,  while  her  little  hand  lay  list 
lessly  on  the  silken  cushions  and  her  dreaming 
eyes  seemed  to  see  nobody. 

Duane  and  I  remained  for  a  while  seated,  then 
in  silence, — which  Athalie  finally  broke  for  us : 

"Patience,"  she  said,  "is  the  art  of  hoping.  .  .  . 
Good-night." 

I  rose ;  she  looked  up  at  me,  lifted  her  slim  arm 
and  placed  the  palm  of  her  hand  against  my 
lips. 

And  so  I  took  my  leave;  thinking. 


(i) 


000  131  902 


r! 


